Leadership Lessons from My dad.

In January, I took my boys skiing for the day, and within forty-five minutes on the slopes, my youngest crashed into a tree, injuring his mouth and teeth.

Until recently, my dad, Scott, had been our family dentist, expertly repairing our many dental injuries over the years. My eldest son, Zach, had a sledding accident that left his front teeth much like his speed-skiing brothers, and Dad was ready to help! When my smile wore down during chemotherapy in my teens, he rebuilt it into what it is today, and I still think it’s the best part of my face. He was so gifted and so committed to his vocation.

Dad had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was no longer working.  As I approached the scene of Colton’s ski accident, I felt relieved to see that my son was okay. His helmet, securely in place, had protected him from a head injury, and the damage was only noticeable when he smiled.

Then, my relief quickly turned to grief.

In their book, The Deep Down Things, Amber and Seth Haines write, “Inside grief there were a hundred others.” I feel that in my soul. It seems so silly and selfish, right? My dad has terminal cancer, yet I am standing on the slopes devastated that he would not be able to repair my son’s teeth. I was absolutely confident no one could ever do it better. It's difficult to settle for less when the bar of excellence is set at a certain level for so long.

In my work with nonprofits and leaders, we often explore the difference between excellence and perfection. Upon reflection, my dad’s craft and life gave me a wonderful guide. He was a guy of many words – loved to tell stories and impart his wisdom to us kids. Yet, more is often caught than is taught. In his final months earthside, it wasn't easy to express what he left me with because he refused to give up. So, as a tribute to him, and in honor of all of us seeking imperfect excellence, I’ll share them with you.

Excellence means investing and growing in your craft.  

Jim Collin’s call this a business hedgehog. What are you best in the world at, what are you passionate about, and what drives your resource engine? The intersection of these three things is what you invest in, own, and develop further. If you’re a nonprofit, it might be equitable access to family housing or dignified education services for new Americans.

Scott Ellard Dentistry’s focus was top-level dental care in a compassionate environment.

Once we narrow down our hedgehog, we pursue everything toward that end.

When you went into Scott Ellard Dentistry, it was clear the priority was a healthy and attractive smile for all patients, and people experienced their care from the moment they walked inside the building. Beautiful photographs of patient progress were displayed throughout the space. Cozy blankets were placed on your lap to keep you warm during appointments. Television screens with Santana, Mariah Carey, and James Taylor playing concerts, long before dentists had screens in their office. Much of this is a credit to my mom Debbie, who was my dad’s partner in dentistry and life for thirty-nine years. They wanted to create an environment that challenged the status quo, an environment people looked forward to visiting even for the most uncomfortable reasons.

In addition to the patient experience, he pursued a kind of dentistry that people had never experienced. He achieved an advanced graduate-level accreditation at the Kois Center, the only continuing education program in the country that conducts and publishes independent research. He believed that excellence could only be achieved if he kept getting better.  It wasn’t just about making smiles pretty, he ensured that lifelong function was a top priority. Was it cheaper to go a different route? Absolutely! Would it have been better for patients? No. He invested in the best equipment, the best talent, and the best experience for the sole purpose of honoring his mission.

Connection and friendship are our lifeblood.

Dad always had a 'guy'—or a 'gal'. He had a wine guy, a guy at the restaurant up North who recognized him at first glance, and a gal who sang at that restaurant, whom he got to know over the years and hired for staff parties. There was a guy who would watch their dog at a moment’s notice and another skilled dentist gal (Thank you, Kathy!) who came in twice a week to help run his practice when he was diagnosed. He had friends he fished with for over 30 years, and several couples he had stayed in touch with since high school, college, or early adulthood. He had loyal and talented team members - all amazing and kind women - who continued to level up their skills right alongside him through the years and stuck with him through thick and thin at their dental practice. This benefited every single patient.

He had his people, and they had him.

He was a good friend, and those friendships showed up in his personal and work life daily—through text messages sent, gatherings planned, or campfires stoked. I was amazed at the friends who stopped for one last chance to be with him earthside. Stories abounded: of the times he bought snow tires for a team member who couldn’t afford them, or the encouraging texts sent to a friend every morning when he was going through a divorce. So far, what I miss most about my dad is his phone calls to me simply to say hi.

Relationships need care and attention to grow. Amid our fast-paced, often self-focused world, it can be easy to overlook the time and effort they deserve. Maybe you're not as outgoing as some, but we all have important people in our lives who mean the world to us. When was the last time you reminded them how much they matter? Have you shown them through your words or actions how deeply they’re valued?

Our work relationships are valuable, and if we’re lucky, some of them become friends. We have to nurture these connections.

Saying 'I’m Sorry' is an Essential Leadership and Life Skill

Last Christmas, Dad sent me a rather blunt text message expressing his disappointment that we wouldn’t be staying longer over the holidays. Though it came from a place of love, it made me feel bad because I was already feeling stretched. I called him and shared how I felt, and he immediately said, 'I’m so sorry, Babe! I shouldn’t have sent that—I was disappointed, wished we could have more time together, and got trigger-happy!”

I’m so sorry. Those words are incredibly underrated. I’ve put my foot in my mouth more times than I can count because I am imperfect—and always will be. Dad did the same because he was imperfect too. One of the things I admired most about my dad was his ability to apologize well and do better next time.

In her book The Fearless Organization Amy Edmonson writes, “Psychological safety is not about being nice. It’s about candor, about making it possible for work to be productive and innovative. It’s about giving candid feedback, openly admitting mistakes, and learning from each other.”

The ability to admit when we’re wrong takes courage, fosters restoration, and creates an opportunity for improvement next time. We’re all going to mess up. The real question is what we do with that mistake when it happens, and where we go from there.

Thank You, Dad
Dad, thank you for the countless lessons you’ve given me—lessons that go beyond words and actions. You’ve shown me that real excellence is found in the imperfect moments, in the ways we invest in our craft and relationships, and in how we humbly admit when we’re wrong. I will forever be grateful for the way you lived, loved, and worked. As I carry your legacy forward, I’m committed to seeking that same kind of imperfect excellence—striving to grow, connect, and lead with vulnerability and authenticity.