The Man Who Taught Me to Think Bigger

My grandfather is in hospice right now.

Dementia has been slowly stealing pieces of him, and other medical complications have taken the rest of his physical strength. But there are things it can’t take — the legacy he built, the standard he set, and the way he wired my brain for business.

He’s the man who drilled business acumen into me before I even knew what the word meant.

He told me I could be more. He told me I should expect more. And in true tough-love fashion, he once warned me that if I didn’t make big strides in life, I’d end up cleaning toilets for a living.

(Spoiler alert: I did clean toilets at a few jobs. And I’m grateful for every one of them. Stepping stones matter. Times change. And humility builds backbone.)

He spent most of his career at Bull, Inc. He excelled at everything he put his mind to — including Excel, long before it was cool to brag about spreadsheets. He approached business like a chess game: calculated, steady, intentional.

Once, he flew to France to close a deal. The clients liked him so much that the day he arrived home, they called and asked him to come back the following weekend.

That’s presence. That’s competence. That’s relationship-building before LinkedIn thought leadership was a thing.

He was an avid golfer. A terrible jokester. A vodka lover. A true gentleman. Firm in his convictions, steady in his expectations, and impossible to intimidate.

When I was little, I was convinced he was Batman. And honestly? That checks out.

When I was scared of thunderstorms, he didn’t tell me to toughen up. He ran outside in the rain with me.

That was his leadership style, too. Not “be brave alone.” It was “I’ll stand in the storm with you.”

Everything I build now carries pieces of him.

The standards. The refusal to cut corners. The belief that reputation is earned in quiet rooms and kept through integrity. The expectation that if you’re going to do something — you do it exceptionally.

I wouldn’t be the businesswoman I am without him.

And while dementia may blur the details now, it will never erase what he built — in boardrooms, on golf courses, or in a little girl who thought her grandfather was secretly a superhero.

He still is.

Legacy & Leadership

As I sit with this chapter of his life, I think about what leadership really is.

It isn’t titles. It isn’t deals closed. It isn’t how sharp you are in a spreadsheet.

It’s the people who walk differently because you believed in them.

It’s the confidence you loan someone until they can carry it on their own.

It’s the standard you set that becomes the floor, not the ceiling, for the next generation.

If I lead with steadiness, it’s because he did. If I expect excellence, it’s because he modeled it. If I run toward storms instead of away from them, it’s because once upon a time, he ran into the rain with me.

That’s legacy.

A Quiet Reminder

If you’re reading this and you still have the chance — ask the questions. Write down the stories. Pay attention to the small lessons disguised as offhand comments.

And if you’ve already lost someone who shaped you, build something worthy of them.

That’s what I’m trying to do.

Every single day.