“One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.” –George Herbert

Recently, a friend told a story about how after his father passed away, he found stacks of dusty journals in boxes of his father’s keepsakes. As he flipped through the pages, he came across an entry from when he was about 7 years old that read, “Work is overwhelming right now, but I kept my plans to take my son fishing for the first time. I didn’t get any business done and I’m not sure if he will even remember today, but it was one of the greatest days of my life.” The interesting thing is, that fishing trip was one of the son’s fondest memories of his father. It’s those silent, reflective moments that make fathers into legends.

Often in today’s culture, there’s an entirely different paradigm that’s likely to be presented as fatherhood. Instead of dear-old-dad, our world too often speaks more of the deadbeat-dad. The U.S. Census Bureau states that more than 24 million children live in father-absent homes. And according to the National Fatherhood Initiative, “children who live absent their fathers are, on average, at least two to three times more likely to be poor, to use drugs, to experience educational, health, emotional and behavioral problems, to be victims of child abuse, and to engage in criminal behavior.” Of course there are those who beat the odds, but clearly distant dads aren’t setting things off in the right direction.

But what one generation wrecked, another can rebuild. In the documentary The Other F Word, which follows anti-authoritarian punk rockers as they become fathers, the former front man of Everclear, Art Alexakis, whose song Father of Mine helped a generation vilify absenteeism, is seen trying to reverse the trend with his own young daughter. That picture of change is powerful, proving there are no prerequisites to fatherhood: being a great father doesn’t require that you had one yourself.

After all, dads teach us lessons about fatherhood through their successes and their failures. They teach us to show up when it’s easier to run. They teach us to persevere when it’s easier to quit. They teach us to get back up when we fall down. They teach us to spend time with those who matter most, because life is short and tomorrow is not guaranteed. And most of all, they teach us that legends aren’t always made in the public eye – they are made in the eyes of sons whose eyes are on their fathers.

Daniel Vaughn has a job that makes most salivate with envy. As the first-ever Barbecue Editor for Texas Monthly, it’s Daniel’s job to travel and taste hundreds of varieties of smoked, brined and slathered goodness – all in the name of research. His first book, The Prophets Of Smoked Meat, relishes in brisket, spareribs and pulled pork. But Daniel’s work is more textbook than cookbook. It offers profiles of established pitmasters, mouth-watering photographs of spice-rubbed, hickory-smoked and fall-off-the-bone meat, as well as stories, tutorials and tasting notes from a pilgrimage that covered 10,000 miles and 186 stops in the Lone Star State.

“It’s incredibly exciting,” says Daniel, the self-proclaimed “BBQ Snob,” who until a few weeks ago, still maintained a full-time job as an architect. But his obsession with the finest tastes in Texas paved the way to his new gig as a barbecue expert. He spent years cataloguing his culinary adventures by recording voice memos on his phone with the location, date, heat, finish, flavors and any other thoughts that came to mind. Soon, Daniel realized he needed a better system.

“It’s really geeky, I know,” he laughs. “But I had all of these audio recordings of tasting notes, and finally I decided it’d be best to keep track of them. And starting a blog is free. So I started writing out my notes and these mini reviews, and it was really for me to keep track of the places I’d been. When I began writing more and more, it became a resource for other people, and then it blossomed into what it is today.”

His initial collaboration with Texas Monthly began with a seat on the official tasting team for the Top 50 BBQ List, an edition of the publication that comes out every five years (and is in the upcoming June edition). This year, Daniel wasn’t just on the tasting team, he’d joined the editorial team.

Daniel’s collection of writing is a veritable treasure trove of Texas soul food – and was the launch pad for his book deal with his publisher and Anthony Bourdain. “No one ever asked me to write a book about architecture,” he jokes.

Daniel’s book The Prophets Of Smoked Meat is on sale this week.

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men’s actions.”
– Sigmund Freud

Recently, a friend told a story about a woman he met who was about to undergo a risky brain surgery. Doctors prepared her for the worst, because in all likelihood, the invasive procedure would destroy her ability to speak. When asked how she was doing, she responded, “You know, since I can count the number of sentences I have left to say, I’ve become really picky with my words.”

We live in a world flooded with information and words. On average, men speak 10,000 words a day, and women double that number. Digital communication has exponentially increased the ease, avenues and audience for our words. In some ways, that freedom should be celebrated – especially given that there are many around the world who don’t have the ability or right to speak openly about what they think, feel and believe. The ability to express ourselves can enrich our lives deeply. However, when our language is unrestrained and unmindful, we render our words meaningless at best – damaging at worst.

It happens all the time when marketers exploit a trend. A word popularizes, and almost overnight, it’s overused, abused and stripped of all meaning. We now have “artisan” fast food sandwiches, “handcrafted” cups of gas station coffee and if you’re a blogger having a yard sale you’re participating in “vintage curation.” Something described as “unique” often just means it is “interesting” or “atypical,” rather than it’s true definition of one-of-a-kind.

Quality, precision, and an appreciation for the true meaning of words have taken a backseat to a false virtue: speed. Getting information out quickly has become more valuable than accuracy or pertinence. Popular logic is that you can always correct yourself later, so just say something – anything – but say it first and say it fast.

Mark Twain famously said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” Being thoughtful and restrained with what we say takes more time. But it’s worth the effort to be selective, because when you sacrifice speed and frequency, your words gain significance, sincerity and authenticity.

Language is not only a gift, but also a responsibility. And these days, it’s radical to be careful and wise with our words.

Tall pines loom with authority over an undulating green. Sounds of nature echo across fuchsia flowers, green brush and 18 legendary yellow flags. A hushed crowd watches in anticipation, waiting patiently for the next swing. Suddenly, a distant roar explodes through pine trees and interrupts the pristine setting. “Something’s happened on 17,” someone whispers with a smile. But there’s no big screen to show the replay, no cell phone in your pocket to check the score. After all, this is The Masters.

The anticipation and quiet pressure have become familiar to Stewart Cink, who’s competed in every Masters tournament since 1997, except one. This year will mark his 17th, and Cink knows well that the way Augusta National operates is different than just about every other tournament in the country.

“The club is very intent on preserving tradition, and it’s a philosophy that they work very hard to develop and maintain,” he told us. “People think they’re antiquated, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not our club; it’s their club. Whatever they say is what goes.”

The club strives to maintain the tournament’s excellence, not through commercialization or extravagant prices, but through the timelessness of the experience. Series badges are limited to an exclusive Patron’s list, and all other practice round and daily tickets are only available through a lottery. Once inside, the impeccable 7,435-yard course is accompanied by an event that is just as aesthetically pure. There are no cell phones. No blimps. No price g0uging or loud heckling. There is absolutely no running on the course – and there are only two groups of people allowed within the ropes that mark the green: players and caddies.

“At any other tournament you have coaches, agents and lots of people walking between the ropes, and it can feel pretty crowded out there,” Cink says. “At The Masters, the coaches aren’t even allowed inside the ropes, period. And they enforce it. It de-clutters the competitive area.”

The rules may seem exacting to some, but they create an atmosphere that you can’t find at any other sporting event in the country. It’s why in the morning you’ll find guests speed-walking the course to stake out a spot for their lawn chairs. (And once placed, those chairs are safe for the entire day; walk away and come back hours later, and they won’t be stolen, moved or used). It’s why pimento cheese sandwiches are $1.50 and beer is $2. It’s why guests are watching the players, rather than holding up cell phones trying to capture an amateur photo. And it’s why when a roar rings out through the trees, patrons are forced to wait for the handwritten score to make it to the scorekeepers, who manually change the scoreboard.

“I remember my first golf memory was Jack Nicklaus winning The Masters,” Cink says. “This place, it just has so much history, and this sense of tradition . . . it’s what makes the place so unique.”