What My Dad Taught Me About Work, Life, and Never Stopping at Exit 62

Bryant Wilder is out of retirement. As his announcement made clear, as of January 3rd he was retired — and as of January 22nd he was back to work. We knew he couldn't sit still for long, but really, Dad? I guess I'm just mad I have to find a new babysitter. LOL.

Retirement for my dad, though short-lived, was met with great expectation and excitement. For a lot of millennials, though... the thought is dark and looming. We're anxious for the day we don't have to get up for work anymore, but we can't be sure what's waiting on the other side. Just peep the Google headlines: "Millennials and Retirement: How Bad Is It?", "What the Reinvention of Retirement Means for Millennials," and the one that hits different every time — "Will Social Security Still Be There When Millennials Retire?"

Don't worry. Ma and Pops say yes. Social Security isn't going anywhere, apparently. But regardless of how we feel about retirement, we have a long way to go. Here's what I've learned as a millennial from a Boomer who worked tirelessly for 38 years at the same organization.

Bryant Wilder is no ordinary man.

He went from Clerical Typist at a local office in the Bronx to Deputy Regional Commissioner for all of New York, New Jersey, and Puerto Rico. All the while creating and producing music, writing and performing comedy shows, putting on concerts, teaching himself every piece of software he needed, building things with his hands, and still having time to make homemade waffles whenever his girls asked.

Those are the things most people know. Here's what I know.

Harry Potter and the value of an expanding vocabulary.

I don't remember exactly how old I was, but every night he'd sit on my bed and read Harry Potter to me until I fell asleep. While most Christian parents banned JK Rowling from their homes entirely, my dad saw the value of her writing for a blossoming imagination and an expanding vocabulary. If you know him, you know he loves big words. He's quite the sesquipedalian (his words, not mine). He taught me early that knowing words — and using them correctly — matters. Rowling didn't just give adolescents useful language; she invented her own as an advocate for creativity itself.

In the 25 years I've known Bryant Wilder, he has always proven that few things are more powerful than an expanding vocabulary and a creative mind.

Inspector Gadget and the value of completion.

A memory I'll never forget: we spent an entire day driving from McDonald's to McDonald's across the city trying to collect every piece of the Inspector Gadget Happy Meal toy set. If his career didn't speak enough to his persistence, that day alone would. He was navigating NYC with a six-year-old in the car; I have no idea how many times we stopped for gas. It was an eight-piece set and there were two pieces we could not find anywhere. I don't remember if the adventure was his idea or mine — but either way, it was not ending until it was complete.

That instinct to finish runs deep in him. Nothing is done until it's done.

Hot Wheels and the value of doing it right.

I had what I'd call an unhealthy obsession with Hot Wheels as a kid. I lined them up in order of favorites and knew immediately if someone moved them (someone being my dad). I asked for Hot Wheels track sets every Christmas alongside Easy-Bake ovens and life-size Barbie dolls — odd girl, I know. And while you'd think I took the most joy in setting up those tracks and racing the cars as fast as they'd go... no one took more joy than my father. Christmas afternoons, he'd fake-gently move me out of the way so he could set up the track himself.

The easy lesson: if you want something done right, do it yourself.

Exit 62 and the value of working smarter.

That lesson never came without a counterpoint on delegation — because working smarter always matters more than working harder. For the first two-plus years of college, my dad drove me to and from Boston. I'd sleep the entire ride up... until one day I heard the words I was not prepared for: "You're driving."

By that point he knew the route from Northeastern to Mount Vernon by memory and called out every direction without GPS. We were at exit 62. Our exit was 12. I knew we had 50 exits to go; he thought I didn't. Rule one: never provide more information than necessary. The ride back was full of actual gems — stay aware, trail behind whoever's going faster than you, keep seven car lengths at 70 mph, stay in the middle lane when possible.

We don't stop for snacks. That's just a Wilder thing.

Family first. Always.

The most important lesson my dad ever taught me didn't come with instructions. It came through watching him.

He used to take me on dates to Jackson Hole — just the two of us. Now he'll call and ask if I want to grab breakfast or ride with him to Home Depot. Jackson Hole holds a permanent place in my heart, but the lesson wasn't in the location. When he was in the Senior Executive Leadership Program and had to spend time at Harvard and work stints at SSA headquarters in Baltimore... he never spent a weekend away from home. The one exception was a family trip to D.C. where we frolicked from the White House (dubbed "the small house" that day) to the National Spy Museum.

He never wanted us to feel like he wasn't there. And we never did. To be faithful to work is one thing; to be faithful to family is something else entirely.

So I'll end here, Dad. I could beg God to make me half as sharp as you. The dictionary reading, the crossword puzzles, the hundred games of solitaire a day — whatever it is, it's working. You are intelligent, masterfully articulate, uncommonly decisive, and shamelessly authentic.

Thank you for being a profound example of hard work. I've never once heard you complain. Thank you for teaching me that words matter and that using them well is a skill worth building. Thank you for always being honest — even when it stings a little. Thank you for loving your family enough to give 38 years to something and push all the way to the top without ever making us feel the cost of it.

SSA is glad to have you back. But I'm just grateful I get to call you Daddy.

Congrats, B-Man.