Greg's Journal: My Father Never Told Me to Become a Nurse

Greg's Journal | Entry No. 9

My father never told me I should become a nurse. He never suggested I become a nurse anesthetist. He never sat me down and explained that healthcare would be a good career.

He didn't have to.

I was watching.

Looking back, I think that's how we learn the most important lessons in life. Not from lectures, but from the people we admire. Children are always paying attention, even when we don't realize it.

Growing Up Navy

I was born at Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois. By the time I graduated from high school, I had attended six different schools.

Moving wasn't something unusual in our family. It was simply life.

My father began his military career as a Navy Hospital Corpsman serving alongside the Marine Corps. Later, he earned his diploma in nursing, worked in cardiac nursing, attended anesthesia school at George Washington University, and eventually became a Navy nurse anesthetist.

His career took us all over the country. Millington, Tennessee. Maryland. Portsmouth, Virginia. Back to Maryland. Back to Virginia. Finally, Paducah, Kentucky after he retired from the Navy.

People sometimes ask if moving so often was difficult. Honestly, it never felt that way. It was normal.

Instead of making me uncomfortable with change, it made me comfortable with it. Every few years meant a new school, new teachers, new friends, and another chance to figure things out.

Without realizing it, I was learning adaptability. Years later, those lessons would help me in the Marine Corps and eventually in healthcare.

My Hero

I remember going to see my dad at work when I was little.

He wore either his khaki uniform or his white uniform, depending on where he was working. To me, he looked larger than life. Like most little boys, I thought my father could do just about anything.

One of my favorite memories was spending the night aboard an aircraft carrier while he was serving on a Fleet Surgical Team. I rode out to the ship before it returned from deployment and spent the night with him before it docked.

For a little boy, it was unforgettable. The smell of the ocean. The aircraft. The noise. The size of everything.

I didn't understand much about military medicine. I just knew my dad was part of something important.

Looking back now, I realize those experiences probably planted a seed that wouldn't grow until years later.

"Go See Your Father."

In our house, Dad was the one everyone went to when something happened.

If we got hurt, Mom had a standard response.

"Go see your father."

He cleaned cuts. Checked fevers. Wrapped sprained ankles. Figured out whether something was serious or whether we'd be fine in an hour.

Taking care of people wasn't just his job. It was simply who he was.

Even dinner conversations reflected that. We'd hear stories about surgeries, interesting patients, or something unusual that had happened at work. At the time, I assumed every family talked like that around the dinner table.

Today, my dad and I still find ourselves talking about anesthesia. There's something special about having someone who understands your work because they've lived it themselves.

Patience

If I had to describe my father with one word, it would be patient.

He's the most patient person I've ever known. I'm still working on that.

One lesson he taught me has stayed with me throughout my life.

Don't be too quick to judge. You never really know what someone else is carrying.

Maybe they're having the worst day of their life. Maybe they're scared. Maybe they're hurting. Give people the benefit of the doubt.

That advice has helped me far beyond healthcare. When you work in an ICU or an operating room, you quickly realize that everyone has a story.

Sometimes people don't need someone to judge them. They need someone willing to help them.

Evenings

Both of my parents worked hard. They usually got up early and went to bed around the same time.

Every evening, they read before bed. I remember my dad falling asleep with anesthesia books open in his lap while he was studying.

At the time, I didn't think much about it. Now I realize they were teaching me something without ever saying a word.

Evenings were for slowing down. For reading. For preparing for tomorrow.

Maybe that's where my appreciation for evening routines first began.

Following an Example

I started college as a chemistry major. Science came naturally to me. I was president of the Science Club in high school and loved chemistry.

But once I got into college, I realized something about myself. I wasn't happiest sitting behind a desk.

I'm a hands-on learner. I wanted to work with people. I wanted to do something that made a difference.

Watching my dad enjoy his work had made an impression on me. He never pushed me toward anesthesia. He didn't have to. I saw that he found purpose in caring for people. I thought maybe I would too.

Turns out, I did.

The Lessons I Hope My Children Learn

Now I'm the father.

My children are watching me the same way I watched my dad. Not when I'm trying to teach them. All the time.

They're watching how I treat their mother. Whether I keep my word. How I respond when things don't go according to plan. Whether I complain. Whether I work hard. Whether I'm grateful.

Someday they'll probably remember things I don't even realize I'm teaching them.

That's both exciting and a little intimidating.

Because children rarely become what we tell them to become. More often, they become what they see.

What My Father Really Gave Me

People sometimes ask what my father gave me.

I could tell you he gave me a love for science. A career path. An appreciation for healthcare.

Those things are true.

But I think what he really gave me was an example.

An example of quiet service. Of responsibility. Of patience. Of consistency.

He showed me that caring for people is honorable work. That providing for your family is something to take pride in. That your actions speak much louder than your words.

He never once told me to become a nurse.

He simply lived a life worth following.

And after all these years, I realize that's one of the greatest gifts a father can give his son.

For the Quiet Hours,
Greg Wiggins, CRNA
Co-Founder, Bloomfield Schoolhouse Lavender