This Father’s Day, I take a moment to remember and honor a man who left an indelible mark—not just on me, but on all nine of his children and the generations to come. My father, Richard Glen Thompson, was a man of immense complexity, fierce integrity, and tireless dedication. His ideals weren’t just beliefs; they were calls to action.
Dad never waited for someone else to step in. If something needed fixing, he’d be the first with his sleeves rolled up. He wore many hats in his professional life—from serving on the city planning commission to running his own construction company. One of his proudest civic achievements was spearheading a sewage system plan for Mapleton, Utah. He secured large industrial pumps from Geneva Steel and crafted a comprehensive project proposal. The city chose another direction, but I believe they’ve since realized his vision was the wiser one.
He never chased recognition, but he earned every bit of respect.
My dad was a deeply proud family man. Out of his nine children, eight of us remain to honor him, while our brother Justin rests by his side. He loved to boast about his children and grandchildren—18 in total at the time of his passing. Anytime he met someone new, he’d almost instantly say, “I have 9 children,” always with pride shining in his eyes.
He raised us with affection, humor, and often, a few animals. From as early as I can remember, Dad worked hard to maintain a ranch. I recall the days in Arizona when he brought in a herd of cattle. A business trip took him away, leaving Mom and me to manage on our own. That year was tough—we lost a lot of calves—but those experiences taught me lessons in responsibility and resilience.
Dad was a cowboy in every sense. He worked ranches in his youth, rode horses like it was second nature, and carried himself with the kind of grit and honor you find in classic Westerns. He made sure his children grew up with cows, horses, dogs, and cats. We learned tenderness and empathy from the animals he surrounded us with.
My best memories are of working alongside him in construction. He demanded both excellence and honesty. Though we didn’t always see eye to eye, every tough moment came with a valuable lesson.
Dad faced his share of injustice too. Toward the end of his life, he endured pain, betrayal, and unfair treatment. One of the most vivid memories I carry is seeing my mom attack him in a rage simply because he came home late after stopping for a beer. She hit him, even with a chair. He never retaliated, but she still had him arrested with false accusations. That experience stayed with me—and taught me a hard but vital lesson: protect your reputation.
It’s one of the reasons I later founded a security and surveillance company. I always kept a DVR in my vehicle and cameras on my property—because I learned the cost of being defenseless against lies. I explore this further in my article on reputation destruction: Feminism’s Overreach and Society’s Inevitable Pushback.
Dad never demanded sympathy or justice. He just kept going, doing what needed to be done, loving fiercely, and standing tall.
In a conversation with my daughter recently, I thought of something that struck my heart—I believe that they would’ve been great friends. They share that same resilient, creative, and principled soul. And yes, she wants to be a cowboy too. Though she never got to meet him, I wish she would have so badly.
I miss him every day. We all do. But his legacy is alive and well—in our work, our values, and our stories.
Dad, may you finally rest. You earned that peace more than anyone I know.
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