𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

It’s another steamy, hazy morning out here on the patio. I had planned to follow up yesterday’s reflection with another jab at workplace leadership, a follow-up to the right hook I threw yesterday. But that doesn’t match my mood today.

This morning’s reflection is about the difference volunteers make. After writing about the crew who stayed behind to clean up after our 4-H fair, I’ve been thinking more deeply about the quiet, steady presence of volunteers and how much they shape the groups they serve.

Last night, after watching the TinCaps fall to the Loons, we passed Catholic Cemetery on the way home. I have an aunt and uncle buried there, along with a few distant relatives and old friends. But this time, my thoughts went to someone else: Mr. Dan Thurber.

I first met Dan in the 1980s during my Boy Scout years. He was the Scoutmaster of Troop 307 at Our Lady of Good Hope Catholic Church, a friendly rival to my own Troop 27 at Bethany United Methodist Church. Both troops drew boys from Shambaugh Elementary, which created a healthy competition for new Scouts.

Over time, I got to know Dan better, especially as his oldest son and I became more involved in Scouts and the Order of the Arrow. What started as rivalry grew into friendship. Dan was always there. His pickup truck with the cap and the front bumper hitch was a familiar sight. Wherever the Scouts were, Dan was too.

Fast forward to 2012 when my eldest son crossed over to Boy Scouts. We chose to join Troop 2 at St. Vincent Catholic Church, led by Dan Thurber. The old friendship quickly rekindled, and Dan never missed a chance to remind me that he knew me before I ever grew into my six-foot-two frame.

Watching Dan lead Troop 2, I quickly realized how much he did behind the scenes. He knew the ins and outs of the program, who to contact at the council, and when forms were due. Others handled big events and planning, but Dan was the one who kept the troop running smoothly through all the little details.

What spoke volumes about Dan’s commitment was how he stayed involved even while battling cancer. Through the hardest times, he made sure boys advanced, merit badges were earned, and paperwork was submitted. He showed up, even when it was difficult.

Because Dan was there.

He was always there.

For the boys. For the troop. For the mission.

People like Dan don’t often get the praise they deserve. They are the quiet constants. The ones who show up time after time and rarely seek recognition.

My hope is that you’ve had a Dan Thurber in your life—someone who was always there.