Our Father’s Day series continues with this post by Andrew Horsfield. Many years ago, we had a creative director who believed in celebrating birthdays for a full month. Andrew’s Father’s Day story wasn’t quite ready for last Sunday, but we still wanted to tell it.
First, to the very picky and very official editorial staff of The Conference Publishers, the plural form of “father” is correct. I meant to do that. For once it is not a typo. All will become clear later.
Second, to the gentle reader, you must understand that the world treats me better than I deserve. I learned this a long time ago, when my mother met and married my step-father. From that point on, I had two Dads. Whereas some kids have none, I had two men who seemed determined that I should turn out to be a good father, husband, and contributing member of society—despite all my efforts to the contrary.
When my parents got divorced back in the 1960s, I’m told it was kind of ugly. I wouldn’t know, though; I was a five-year-old boy, oblivious to the world around me. (My wife would say I am still somewhat oblivious to the world around me. Perhaps that is the secret to happiness? But I digress.)
All I remember is that I had a father who loved me and raised me, and a new guy who seemed determined to do the best by me. Later, I moved to be with my mother and “step-father.” I had to put that word in quotes, because I have never considered my step-father to be my step-father. He has always been my Dad—just like my father has always been my Dad. I know it’s complicated. But it’s family.
Today, my Dads talk to each other on a regular basis. It took a while, but I can remember numerous family gatherings like weddings and anniversaries, where the two Dads would be standing in a corner, laughing and kibitzing about my mother.
My Dad has taken my half-sister and her kids to the parade because my Step-Dad couldn’t make it. They’re not his grandkids by blood, but they are part of his (our) family. Again, I hate the term “half-sister,” but it’s hard to convey the uniqueness of the relationship without the technical terms.
Since my Mom died in January, my Dads have spoken by phone a number of times. One lives in Parksville, B.C. and the other in Thunder Bay, Ontario, so it’s long-distance calls between two men who have a shared history spanning more than 45 years. Each of them reminds me to keep an eye on the other to ensure he’s doing okay.
My fathers have taught me the importance of family. They have demonstrated that even the most grievous hurt can be overcome, and we are often the better for it, so don’t get your knickers in a knot over the small stuff. From a business point of view, this is a valuable lesson in client relations.
Both my Dads have worked hard their entire lives. Through numerous home renovations and vehicle repairs, they taught me not to be obsessed with the challenge in front of you, but to see the possibilities it could become. Share your vision with your family or business clients, and invite them to join you.
And get involved! My parents have always participated in various organizations. If they’re not on the board of directors for this group, they’re on some committee for another. My parents have shown me that being involved is its own reward. Yes, you may end up juggling schedules to ensure you’re at the right meeting or school play, but it’s doable and makes life so much richer.
I realize that my Dads have taught me far too much to list here, but here’s a partial list for starters: My Step-Father went to an English boarding school. He taught me which fork to use at a banquet and how to tie a tie. My Father has been selling insurance since the dinosaurs roamed the earth. He taught me sales. Neither of them told me about ethics—they lived it in front of me. Valuable lessons for anyone, in any industry.
My Dads have shown me that people do care about others. Real men program computers, sell insurance, fix cars, and do plumbing, painting, and electrical work. They can tie a tie, wear a tuxedo, or lay sod to make a new front lawn. They help with the laundry and clean up after supper. Real men work on community committees and come home to have supper with their families. Real men are just like my Dads.

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VANCOUVER—Father’s Day was a travel day for me this year, so this post is as close as I’m going to get to talking to my dad. That’s just as well, in a way, because I can’t think of a better way to start bringing our blog back up to date than by tracing some of the early advice and good examples that got our company started.
This year has brought an unusual number of Father’s Day blogs and columns, and on Saturday we heard some soaring, heartfelt tributes to a friend and colleague’s dad. (We’re with you, Kate.) So I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned from my father, and realizing what a large share of the firm’s principles and foundation come from him.
My mum and Reuben met in 1975, when I was 17. They married two years later, long after he had given up on having children, long after I’d accustomed myself to life without a father. By the time we began spending time together, he’d worked a quarter-century as a consulting engineer, and I was on my way into what I thought would be a life-long career in journalism. Which is a roundabout way of saying we were set up to test each other’s limits.
Communicators and engineers have some interesting cultural differences. As a wannabe newshound, schooled in the triumphs of Woodward and Bernstein against the evils of the Watergate scandal, I insisted that technologists had a duty to explain what they were doing—in plain language, mind you—so that anyone with an interest could have a say in the decision. He pointed to the rigorous standard that obliged his profession to keep the building, bridge, or power dam operating safely for decades after it was commissioned…and argued that if it took the obscure precision of technical language to get the job done, the public could buy a dictionary.
I still think I was right about public accountability. But I also know that Reuben was right about the need we all have, the obligation we all share, to put a solid, factual foundation under everything we do.
It isn’t the easiest path for a niche business, or the best way to make yourself popular in a time-challenged industry. But whenever we build a conference publication to reflect the very best knowledge a group has to offer, or recommend that a workshop program favour substantive content over motivational fluff, that voice you hear in the background belongs to Reuben. When we try to pull and cajole our industry toward a more science-based approach to challenges as varied and urgent as climate change, green building design, and pandemic preparedness, that comes from Reuben, too.
My dad will be 89 later this year. He’s an avid Skype user, writes regularly for the newsletter at the seniors’ residence where he moved last year, and has just been invited to serve another two-year term on a city planning committee for his neighbourhood. So after everything he’s taught us about science, evidence, and intellectual honesty, he isn’t nearly done: now, the lessons are about persistence, longevity, and keeping on against any obstacle.
So from all of us, Zayde—thank you for so much of what we are, and for so much of what we do. Hey, and Happy Father’s Day.
And this just in…from The Daily Number, a data feature produced by the U.S. Pew Research Center: “74%: Nearly three in four adults say they feel ‘close’ to their fathers—but America’s dads shouldn’t feel too smug. Not only do moms outpoll them on the intimacy scale, but the family dog tops both.” Reuben, don’t give it another thought. Whoever answered that poll obviously never had you for a dad.

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