Sometimes the boy guessed correctly.
Sometimes he didn't.
But his father never laughed at him for not knowing.
Instead, he'd say, "Then let's find out."
Those words became part of the commissioner's approach to leadership.
When a report seemed wrong, he wanted to understand why.
When someone complained, he wanted the relevant facts.
And when an employee made a mistake, he believed the response should consider both the seriousness of the conduct and the evidence explaining what happened.
His father had another saying.
"Don't confuse being loud with being right."
The commissioner heard it constantly while growing up.
His father used it when people argued about politics.
When neighbors disagreed over property lines.
And when a supervisor at the school bus depot blamed a mechanic for a problem the maintenance records didn't support.
As a child, the commissioner sometimes found the advice frustrating.
He wanted his father to fight back.
To raise his voice.
To demand respect.
But the older man usually responded by gathering the evidence.
Then explaining the problem.
His father wasn't weak.
He was deliberate.
And his son learned that restraint could require more strength than shouting.
When the commissioner was fourteen, an experience changed how he thought about police authority.
He was riding home with his father after a long afternoon at the repair shop.
Their old pickup had a cracked dashboard and a heater that worked only when it felt like cooperating.
A patrol car stopped them on a county road.
The officer approached.
Asked for identification.
And began questioning his father about where they had been.
The boy remembered the embarrassment.
His father answered calmly.
He explained that he'd been working at the bus depot.
He provided his documents.
And asked whether there was a problem with the truck.
The officer seemed irritated by the question.
He ordered his father out of the vehicle.
Then searched around the exterior while another officer watched.
The encounter ended without a citation or arrest.
But the boy remembered how his father's hands trembled afterward.
He remembered the silence during the drive home.
And he remembered the way his father paused before starting the engine.
That evening, he asked why his father hadn't argued.
The older man sat at the kitchen table.
He considered the question carefully.
Then answered.
"Because I wanted us to get home."
The boy frowned.