Think.

Think. This is what my father taught me. When I faced a challenge, made a poor decision, or tried to figure out what to do with my life, he would give this simple yet profound advice: think.

In Our Declaration, political philosopher Danielle Allen titles her second chapter “Patrimony,” which refers to things we inherit from our fathers. We have long used her book as part of the Warrior-Scholar Project curriculum, and yesterday I finally had a chance to meet her in person at our Harvard course. In her remarks to our students, she recounted how the lessons she learned in her upbringing, specifically those learned from her father, heavily shaped who she is today.

I’ve been reflecting a lot on my own late father and the meaning of being a dad. What is my patrimony, and — something I consider incessantly — what will I pass along to sons of my own?

Some of my most cherished memories of my dad are the debates. He taught me at an early age that if you have an opinion about something, you better be ready to support it with evidence. He taught me the value of having an open mind and approaching the world with curiosity. He taught me the value of sincere relationship building, which unlocks the potential for deep conversation with folks from all backgrounds. He also taught me that everything is betta’ with feta, but that’s beside the point.

Above all, he taught me to think.

I’ve had no shortage of opportunity to put these lessons to work. I seem to like putting myself into challenging work environments, which often require reflection, analysis, and consensus building to get the job done.

A few years ago, I came across a wonderful quote from John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty: “He who knows only his side of the case knows little of that.” This, perhaps more than anything else, underscores my own version of what it means to “think.” Whenever I find myself locked in a particular mindset or belief, I try to take the time to think about the alternative viewpoint.

Of course, it’s one thing to try and imagine what “the other side” believes, and it’s another thing entirely to hear it from them directly. Mill continues, “Nor is it enough that he should hear the opinions of adversaries from his own teachers, presented as they state them, and accompanied by what they offer as refutations. He must be able to hear them from persons who actually believe them…he must know them in their most plausible and persuasive form.”

Easier said than done, but oh so worth the doing.

Danielle Allen’s packed schedule only allowed her to stay for half of the seminar, so I continued the lesson for the remaining hour after she left. We talk often in the veteran community about imposter phenomenon — few things have triggered that for me as much as teaching immediately after the prolific and brilliant Allen.

Her half of the session logically focused on the readings from her book, so I used my half to address the other author for that unit’s readings: Tocqueville (or, as I heard him referred to yesterday, “T-Dawg”).

The central thesis in Democracy in America concerns what Tocqueville refers to as the “equality of conditions” which he observed in his 1830s trip to America. After clarifying what he meant by this term, I asked the students to divide into two groups: those who buy into his argument, and those who don’t. I then gave them ten minutes to come up with the most compelling arguments….on the other side. Those who believed Tocqueville was onto something had to argue why he was actually wrong, and vice versa. At first, they were not pleased. It was awesome.

I have a unique platform in my current job to influence the direction of an organization that fundamentally transforms the lives of enlisted veterans. It’s an enormous privilege, and an enormous responsibility. I am enduringly grateful for my patrimony, and I am indebted to my father for all he taught me.

Dad: I am still thinking.