Some Words

There’s a particular kind of confidence that comes with being a parent. You stand there, feet planted, voice steady, convinced that what you are about to say will be remembered for generations. You imagine your children one day repeating your words to their own children… perhaps even quoting you at a family dinner with a respectful nod.

And then life, with perfect timing, gently taps you on the shoulder and says, “Not quite.”

Years ago, my wife spent two weeks each year working as an exam marker for the Ministry of Education in Victoria. It became a bit of a family tradition. The children and I would pack up, take the trip over, and spend a few days exploring, visiting her, and catching up with my brothers, who all call the Island home.

On one of those trips, I took my daughter and her friend to see Mile Zero of the Trans-Canada Highway Mile 0 Monument, the official starting point of the Trans-Canada Highway. Now, if you’re going to stand at the beginning of the longest national highway in the world, it deserves a moment. At least, that’s what I thought.

So I did what any proud Canadian father would do. I launched into a full, heartfelt explanation. I talked about how the highway connects the country from coast to coast, how it represents unity, history, and possibility. I’m quite certain I used my “this is important, you should remember this” voice. I may even have paused for effect.

Ten minutes later, I was satisfied. A lesson had been delivered. A memory had been made. A legacy, perhaps, had begun.

Fast forward to recently. My daughter and her friends had taken a trip of their own to Victoria and found themselves standing at that very same monument. Naturally, the moment stirred a memory.

Later, she told me about it.

She said, “Ann Marie remembers you standing there and saying something… but she couldn’t remember what.”

Then she added, with admirable honesty, “I told her, ‘My dad said some words… but I wasn’t really paying attention.’”

And there it was. Years of carefully crafted parental wisdom, reduced to “some words.”

Not profound words. Not inspiring words. Just… words.

But here’s the thing—and this is where the story softens a little.

She remembered being there.

She remembered the trip, the place, the moment. Not the speech, not the carefully chosen phrases, not the ten-minute lecture on national infrastructure, but the experience. The shared time. The feeling of being somewhere together.

It turns out, we don’t always get remembered for what we say. In fact, if we’re being honest, most of our speeches are quietly filed away in that special place reserved for background noise, somewhere between “eat your vegetables” and “don’t forget your jacket.”

But we are remembered for showing up. For taking the trip. For standing beside them at Mile Zero, even if they’re mentally somewhere around Mile 3,000.

So if you ever find yourself offering a thoughtful explanation, a heartfelt lesson, or a ten-minute history of something you’re sure matters… go right ahead.

Just don’t be surprised if, years later, it comes back to you as, “You said some words.”

And you know what?

That’s perfectly fine.