My dad always had very high standards for me, from day one.

Hear, O children of aspiration, and ponder the words of Doug McMillon, the steward of great enterprise, who said: “My dad always had very high standards for me, from day one.” Though this statement may seem simple, it resounds with timeless wisdom. It speaks of discipline, expectation, and love in its truest form—a father’s belief that his child can rise beyond comfort, beyond mediocrity, into greatness. In these words lives the ancient principle that standards shape destiny, that the hand which demands excellence does not restrain—it liberates.

From the earliest ages, the wise have known that character is not forged in ease but in expectation. The fathers and mentors of old did not merely provide; they called forth. When the young faltered, they said not, “Do as you wish,” but rather, “Do as you are capable.” For in demanding much, they declared their faith in the potential of the child. So too did McMillon’s father, who from the very beginning placed before his son a high bar—not as a burden, but as a mirror of belief. For when one sets high standards for another, one says: “You are capable of greatness.”

This truth has echoed through the halls of history. Consider Alexander of Macedon, known to the world as Alexander the Great. His father, King Philip, was not content that his son merely inherit a throne. He gave him the tutelage of Aristotle, demanded mastery in the arts of both war and wisdom, and set before him the impossible task of conquering not lands, but himself. Those standards, high and unyielding, formed within Alexander a spirit that would one day reshape the world. So too, in every age, greatness is born not from comfort, but from the expectations of those who believe we can bear the weight of greatness.

Yet the heart of McMillon’s reflection holds something more tender than ambition. It is a testimony to fatherly love, expressed not in soft words but in steadfast challenge. For love that indulges may bring ease, but love that demands brings growth. The father who holds his child to high standards is like the sculptor pressing hard upon the marble—not to harm, but to reveal the form within. Such love is not always understood in youth; it is only when we stand tall upon the foundation it built that we see its wisdom.

The philosopher Marcus Aurelius, emperor and stoic, once wrote of his own teachers and elders, praising not their leniency but their firmness, their insistence that he live by reason, not impulse. He thanked them for their standards—for they made him a ruler not only of an empire, but of himself. In this way, high standards are not chains; they are the architecture of excellence. They demand of us patience, humility, and endurance—the three pillars upon which greatness stands.

Let this, then, be a lesson to both parents and children alike. To the parent: do not fear to set the bar high, for in doing so you give your child the gift of striving. Teach not indulgence, but integrity; not ease, but endurance. To the child: do not resent the weight of expectation. See in it not oppression, but faith. Every demand, every correction, every challenge is a sign that someone believes you can reach heights you do not yet see.

And so, the wisdom of Doug McMillon’s words shines as both remembrance and guidance. The “high standards” of a father are not merely rules—they are a compass. They direct the young toward strength, resilience, and excellence. For when the day comes that the child must lead, must decide, must endure, it is those early standards that whisper: “You have been prepared.” And then, like McMillon, the grown child may look back and see that those expectations were not burdens after all—they were blessings in disguise, the quiet hands that shaped a leader.

Thus, let us honor those who hold us to higher ground. For the measure of love is not how comfortable it makes us, but how greatly it compels us to rise.