If You're Gonna Do It, Do It Right

If You're Gonna Do It, Do It Right

When I was a kid, I didn’t have a long list of chores or a job at the grocery store like some of my friends. But I did have a hammer. And a dad who handed it to me.

I remember one specific job: pulling nails. My dad had decided to build a second story onto our house. He wasn’t a contractor—just a man with grit and a vision. The wood from the original roof was going to be repurposed, so my job was to pull the nails from the boards he’d torn down. That was it. Pull the nails.

Simple task, right?Except I didn’t really finish it. I only pulled the nails I could see. I didn’t check the other side of the wood. I remember walking away—probably to go play—and hearing his voice call me back.“Hey! You didn’t finish the job.”“What do you mean?”“There are still nails on the other end.”

I remember feeling small. Embarrassed. Frustrated. I thought I’d done what he asked. But he wasn’t yelling to be mean. He was teaching me something that would echo through my entire life:

If you’re going to do something, do it right.If you’re not going to do it right, don’t do it yet.And don’t do it halfway.

What I saw as him being “grumpy,” I later realized was discipline, integrity, and love wrapped in the tone of a builder—a father with a standard.He didn’t just teach with words. He showed me how to use the back of the hammer to pull the nails without damaging the wood—because some of it was over 100 years old. Some of the nails were square. Some were bent. Some needed a crowbar. It wasn’t just about getting the job done; it was about doing it well, and with care.

Looking back, I realize I used to try to cut corners a lot—mostly because I wanted to get to the fun part. My mom, God rest her soul, wanted to make life comfortable and loving. She was my comfort. My dad was my discipline. They created an unbalanced but unforgettable training ground. He’d always say: “Get over here!”—not to be cruel, but to pull me back into the lesson. To help me finish what I started.

This morning, I passed the lesson on to Bella in a hands-on way. I pulled out the pressure washer and showed her how to handle it, just like my dad showed me how to pull nails all those years ago. I did most of the driveway, but I left one section for her to complete. I walked her through it, repeating the same mantra my dad told me: "If you’re going to do something, do it to the best of your ability. Do it right, or don’t do it at all."As she finished that section of the driveway, I encouraged her to tackle the front sidewalk and the porch as well. She took on the challenge, and I watched with pride as she did it correctly, just as I’d shown her. At one point, I joked with her not to let the pressure washer hit her bare foot, adding a bit of humor to the hard work. She looked up with a little smile, maybe realizing that even in the midst of effort, there’s room for joy. By the end, when I asked her how it felt, she said, "It was fun." I could see that she was starting to fall in love with the process of doing something well. It reminded me that the lessons my dad instilled in me are now taking root in Bella, and that’s a beautiful thing to witness.

If Bella carries this lesson forward, she’s going to change her future. Not just on the lanes, not just in school, but in every part of her life. Discipline creates destiny. And when you do things right—not rushed, not halfway—you unlock a level of excellence the world will never forget.