Forty-Eight

I turned 48 this week.

Birthdays naturally make us reflect, but this one felt different. Not because I was thinking about retirement, accomplishments, or some grand idea of a legacy. In fact, after watching interviews this week with Rory McIlroy and Scottie Scheffler, I was struck by something they both said in different ways: they aren’t motivated by legacy. They’re motivated by the people closest to them - their families, their fellow competitors, and the impact they have on those they interact with every day. That perspective resonated with me.

The reason 48 felt different is because my grandfather, Marvin Grom, never had the chance to turn 49. He died in January of 1976 at the age of 48, two years before I was born.

I grew up two houses away from my grandpa, Jack Anderson, and spent a ton of time with him, but this birthday made me realize how little I knew about my other grandfather, a man I never had the opportunity to meet.

So I contacted my dad and my uncle and simply asked them to tell me about their dad.

What they shared painted a picture of a man who lived a full life, even though it was far too short.

He married young, served in the U.S. Navy, took classes at the technical college to learn how to build his own house with the help of friends and family, raised three children, and worked for 15 years as a switchman on the Chicago & North Western Railroad. He loved football, hunting, fishing, trains, and spending time outdoors with his boys.

My uncle shared a memory that stuck with me:

“One special event was when he took your dad and me down to the switchyard where he worked. He let us ride on the switch engine and work the throttle just like a real engineer, one of the highlights of my life.”

He also remembered another conversation that took on new meaning after my grandfather passed away: “When I decided to join the Navy after graduation, being a WWII Navy veteran, he gave me his 100% support. I only hope he was proud of me for following in his footsteps.”

My dad shared simpler moments that became lifelong lessons.

He taught him how to fish for trout. He taught him how to bird hunt and deer hunt. Our family had German Shorthaired Pointers because of his love for hunting dogs. He shared his passion for the railroad through model trains, family trips, and stories that made history come alive.

Life also dealt him difficult cards. He lost his first wife, my grandmother, to cancer when she was only 39. He survived a heart attack at 42.

As I read their responses, I realized something. The things people remembered most weren’t promotions, possessions, or accomplishments. They remembered time together.

-The train rides.

-Fishing for trout.

-Walking behind bird dogs.

-Learning to hunt.

-Words of encouragement before joining the Navy.

-A dad who showed up.

As someone who spends much of my career thinking about learning, behavior change, coaching, and leadership, it reminded me that the most meaningful learning often isn’t delivered in a classroom. It’s passed from one generation to the next through experiences, conversations, encouragement, and example.

If my life today represented a lifetime, I hope the people closest to me would remember that I invested my time in them.

I hope my wife and kids remember the fishing trips, golf rounds, hunting camps, road trips, and everyday conversations more than anything I accomplished elsewhere.

I hope my family knows they came first.

And I hope that those I’ve had the privilege to train, coach, lead, and work alongside feel that I genuinely cared about helping them grow, not just as professionals, but as people.

I never got to meet my Grandpa Marvin.

But at 48, I feel like I know him a little better.

And I’m grateful for that.

Learn In The Flow Of Life

Jason