Every day, I try to pair a Thought of the Day and Question of the Day to spark both reflection and connection. Today, we’re looking at the gap between glory and goodness—and taking a nostalgic (and peanut butter-smeared) look back at lunch in the ’80s. Spoiler: this one’s for the kids who brought their lunch in a paper bag and grew up wondering what cafeteria pizza actually tasted like.
Thought of the Day:
“Glory and accomplishment are of far less importance than the creation of character and the individual good life.” — William Percy
If you’d met me in high school, you’d have seen someone covered in awards and accolades. Trophies? Plenty. Certificates? Check. Recognition? Regular. I didn’t just chase achievement—I caught it, posed for a photo with it, and then hung it on the wall.
But since graduating and moving into adulthood, the trophies have stopped coming. There’s no honor roll for fatherhood. No perfect attendance award for showing up to your job every day even when you’re running on fumes. No GPA bump for keeping your cool during a toddler meltdown at 2:47 a.m. or calming your kid down after a night terror while still half asleep yourself.
The glory fades. But something else takes its place.
These days, I wake up beside my wife and usually one of our three small children wedged between us like a heat-seeking missile. And I can honestly say, even in the sleep-deprived, Cheerio-crusted chaos of it all—this is a good life. Not always an easy life. But a deeply meaningful one.
That’s the kind of life William Percy was talking about. And I’ll be real with you: character doesn’t come naturally. It’s tested. Repeatedly. And lately? I feel like I’ve been failing more of those tests than I’d like to admit. But I keep showing up. Keep trying again. Because this version of accomplishment—the invisible, quiet, grueling work of becoming a better man—is the only trophy I’m really chasing anymore.
Question of the Day:
What was your favorite school lunch?
This one’s a little different for me. I didn’t have a school lunch menu until high school. Growing up in parochial school in the 1980s, there was no cafeteria. You brought your lunch or… you didn’t eat.
So, while other kids might wax poetic about rectangle pizza and chocolate milk cartons, my school lunch was usually a peanut butter sandwich, maybe some pretzels, and if I was lucky, a fruit roll-up that had partially melted into the shape of the inside of my lunch bag.
By the time I got to high school and discovered “hot lunch,” it felt like discovering a secret world. A world where you could buy a slice of greasy pizza and a Gatorade and still somehow have enough money left for vending machine snacks after 6th period. Freedom.
And still? I kind of miss those brown-bag days. They remind me of simpler times. Not easier, but simpler. Back when the biggest decision of the day was whether to trade your cookies for a bag of chips.
What About You?
Did your lunch come in a tray or a paper bag? Did you chase glory—or find it quietly showing up in the ordinary? I’d love to hear your answers.
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