Jason Andersen

From a young age, my dad encouraged me to take risks and try new things in life. I suppose it came from his own experiences that helped him grow confidence in himself, including walking across Washington Street in San Diego on the upper four-inch handrail of the Vermont Street Bridge, or pole vaulting into sawdust pits in high school and junior collge, or jumping out of airplanes as an Army Airborne Ranger in Germany. Not every experience ended as he had hoped, like the time he accidentally burned down a neighbor’s avocado tree, but he learned to believe in himself. He believes in me and has encouraged every adventure I dreamed of, even my desire to start a commercial property landscaping company at age 16, partnering with my 14 and 15-year-old friends. I borrowed his lawn mower and tools, purchased an old 1968 Chevy truck, and began the business, which was a financial and experiential success for me and my partners through high school. One Saturday morning, while adjusting the height of a lawn mower, I accidentally cut off the ends of two of my fingers. The accident could have been prevented, but he believed that it was an important part of the learning experience, and I agree. In the photo of my “dear world” tattoo, you can see the lost end of the middle finger on my left hand and the skin graft from my palm that was used to repair it. Life is full of risks, and taking some of them have resulted in scars, but those scars represent learning moments and a reminder that my dad believes in me. Those experiences have shaped my life and led to a successful career, where I need belief in myself to consistently take calculated risks. His belief in me has translated to me belief in my own kids. As a father, I now understand more profoundly understand how hard it must have been, at times, for him to believe in me and allow me to fail. In 2005, my 7-year-old daughter, Madison, was jumping off and on a trailer being pulled by a tractor for a neighborhood “hayride”. She misjudged her position and footing while trying to jump back on the trailer and was caught by the wheel and run over. Madison passed away the next day. Two of my sons and many neighborhood kids were on that hayride and watched it happen, so it was a shared tragedy for many. She took a risk, and it didn’t work out, but I wouldn’t want her, or any of my kids, to live their lives in any other way. Just a couple of years ago, my dad and I were talking about that accident, and he said, “I’m proud of Madison. She’s my kind of girl. I’m glad she was willing to take that risk, even though it ended badly. I look forward to hugging her when I see her in the next life and telling her that I’m proud of her.” My dad believes, and so do I.