The Grade

The Book of Ron · 35 of 48 · 4 minute read

We will tie this thread together with a deeper look at character.

I honored a promise I made to Daisy. It wasn’t a covenant in the formal sense—it was simply a promise. I told her I would build her a house.

The plan was simple. Daisy was going to attend Midlands Tech with her sister Dawn for two years, and then transfer to the University of South Carolina. I promised them I would build a small, modest home—something around 1,200 to 1,500 square feet. They could live there while going to college. Instead of throwing money away on dorm rooms, they would have a house. When school was finished, they could rent it, sell it, or do whatever made sense for their future.

But life changed the plan.

Daisy was offered a job with a large salary. After talking it through, we both agreed it would be better for her to take the opportunity rather than take on the expense of college at that point. She stepped into the workforce.

Not long after, she met a young man named Mason, and the two decided they were going to get married.

So the plan adjusted again. Instead of building the house for Daisy and Dawn while they attended school, we would build the house for Daisy and Mason.

Part of our agreement was that they would both contribute sweat equity to the project.

My goal in this wasn’t simply to see them work. My goal was to build character.

I told Mason something along these lines—though I don’t remember the exact words:

I will be judging you. How well you perform in this task will tell me a great deal about how well you will love my granddaughter. She is precious to me. She is the apple of my eye. I expect great things from the man who will care for her. Show me through your actions that you will provide those great things. Do you understand that responsibility?

He confirmed that he did.

Time passed, and the project moved forward.

Toward the end of the build, one afternoon we were sitting in the garage. The work was nearly finished. It had become clear that the commitment they had made—especially the young man—had not been fulfilled the way it should have been.

I had bought lunch sandwiches. We were sitting there eating together. Cheryl was there as well.

As we were finishing lunch, I asked Mason a question.

“I need to know something,” I said. “I’d like you to give yourself a grade. How well do you believe you performed on this project?”

He paused for a moment and stroked his small goatee.

Then he said, “I guess I’d give myself a D.”

“A D?” I replied.

“I would probably give you an F. But let’s stay with your grade. A D is still a failing grade.”

Then I asked the question that mattered.

“Knowing the importance of this task—knowing what it represented—how could you allow yourself to perform at that level?”

And I left it there.

Daisy believed I had been too harsh. Cheryl felt the same way.

But this is how I see it.

No one forced Mason to marry Daisy.

No one forced him to make the commitment he made.

No one forced him to sit there that afternoon and endure a three-and-a-half-hour conversation about responsibility and character.

During that entire conversation, I did not scream. I did not holler. I did not curse. I did not insult him or call him names.

I simply explained, firmly and clearly, that an obligation had been accepted and it had not been fulfilled.

The purpose of the conversation was not punishment.

It was instruction.

It was an attempt to build character.

It was an attempt to determine whether this young man was capable of loving my granddaughter the way she deserved to be loved.

Whether the lesson was absorbed will always be up to him. That is something no teacher can control.

But how we give the lesson—that is something we must always search our hearts about. We should always ask ourselves if we are delivering truth as effectively and as kindly as possible.

There is never a place for cruelty in teaching.

Meanness, manipulation, name-calling, screaming, and uncontrolled anger do not build character. They only damage it.

But firmness, accuracy, and honest accountability are not things that should be avoided either.

Sometimes the most respectful thing we can do for another person is to expect something of them.

And sometimes the clearest expression of love is the courage to say:

“You can do better than this.”

There is a companion workbook for this story. Open the workbook (PDF).