When I was young, I thought that toughness was a physical trait that you were either born with, or you weren’t. And I wasn’t.

My dad worked out of town a lot (he is a welder), so when he was home, I wanted to be with him. Deer season was coming up and my dad was going deer hunting. I was five, and I wanted to be with dad, so I wanted to go deer hunting, too. Dad said, “It’s going to be cold. You have to be tough because I’m not going to wait around for you.” “Ok, Dad! I’ll be tough!”

The morning of our trip arrived, and I got up, put my long-johns on, ate a hearty breakfast prepared by Mom, and we were on our way. When we arrived, it was still dark. And cold. I hopped out of the truck, eager to show I was tough, and to be with my dad.

We started walking. Moon boots are not great hiking boots. They’re clunky, and I started falling behind. And my gloves sucked. My fingers started to get cold. “Dad, wait up!” He just kept walking. I started crying. I started getting more frustrated, but I knew I had to be quiet or the deer would be scared away. I stopped my crying, eventually. My hands were numb, just starting to hurt from the cold. Snot was running into my mouth (mmm, salty!), and my eyelashes were getting iced up. But I eventually caught up to my dad. I still wanted to go home, but Dad said, "We're deer hunting. We'll go home when the deer lay down to sleep."

We didn’t see any deer that day, but that was one of my first lessons in being tough. I’m still learning about it.

Tough isn’t like having blue eyes or brown hair or a hitchhiker’s thumb. And being tough doesn’t mean you don’t have that voice in your head that says, “This is going to suck. You shouldn’t do it.” Being tough means listening to that voice, and doing it anyway, and not complaining about it.

This morning, I was reminded of what “tough” means by my stepdaughter, Miray. She’s 12, and this is the first year since 1st grade that she has ridden the bus to school. This morning the temperature was 28F, and the wind was blowing around 15-20 mph. It was cold. Miray hates the cold.

Miray got herself up before sunrise, got dressed (two layers on her legs, three layers on her torso), made herself breakfast, got her shit together and walked out the door. She’s been dreading this day since school started. She knew it would get cold, and she hates getting cold. The first really cold day arrived, and instead of complaining and whining, she got up, did her best to prepare for the cold, and caught the bus.

Miray, today you were tough. And I’m damn impressed.