Growing up, I often felt like I was missing something essential. My father was absent from my life, and that void left a daily ache. But sometimes, God fills those voids with unexpected people — people who don’t have to be “family by blood,” but become family by heart. For me, that person was Milton West — but I always knew him as “Mr. Chip.”
A Man Beyond His Job
By trade, Mr. Chip worked for DOW Chemical until his retirement, a career many would call respectable and stable. But his greatest legacy wasn’t in any paycheck or title — it was in how he showed up in the lives of others. To the world, he may have been just one more man in a small Texas town, but to me, he was a cornerstone.
He lived just a few houses down from my family in Victoria, Texas. As kids, I watched him tending to his yard, pruning bushes, working with precision and care. He made the world around him better — not just through labor, but through intention. I didn’t know it then, but those small lessons would later echo deeply in my life.
Lessons That Shaped Me
I often reflect on the many times Mr. Chip offered guidance — sometimes without realizing it. He taught me the value of education: that books and curiosity open doors not just to jobs, but to understanding. He taught me how to tend a yard: you don’t rush; you nurture. He showed me respect for others, especially for my mother, who carried so much for me.
But perhaps the most profound of all was how he taught me to see people for who they really are — not by how they look, where they live, or what they have, but by their heart, their character, their kindness.
To this day, I trace a kind of “moral DNA” to what Mr. Chip gave me.
A New Chapter: Welcoming My Son
This past May, my wife and I celebrated the arrival of our son, whom we named Bob Wayne Shugart. It was a moment of overwhelming gratitude and deep emotion. As we shared photos and stories, Mr. Chip and his wife, Shirley, came to meet him. Something magical happened: in his presence, they fell in love — instantly, abundantly.
From the moment they met Bob Wayne, they wanted to be a part of his life. They didn’t just say “uncle.” They offered their time, their affection, their love. They babysit him. We visit often. And one day, Mr. Chip said something that brought tears to my eyes: he wants Bob Wayne to call him “Pop.” Not just “Mr. Chip,” but “Pop.” The kind of name a grandpa or beloved father figure might carry. And for Shirley, we coined a playful name: “Lolli.” Together, the grandparents Bob Wayne will know as Lolli & Pop.
It’s a small, endearing twist — but it speaks volumes about the depth of their commitment and love.
Why I’m Sharing This Now
Every day, I scroll through headlines about how divided we are, about how race, politics, and fear harm our relationships. I see people say things like “race relations have never been worse.” But then I see stories like this — small, personal, powerful — and I remember: love and kindness are still very much alive.
This picture (the one many of you saw and responded to) captures a feeling, a connection, a moment of belonging. It doesn’t tell the whole story, but it opens a door. I want to share that story now — not to draw praise, but to remind us all: we are wired for compassion and connection.
This isn’t just about my life in Victoria, Texas. I believe there are millions of stories just like it — people lighting up someone else’s life, stepping in when someone needs it, showing love in quiet, unassuming ways.
If my son can absorb even a fraction of what Mr. Chip gave me — a sense of dignity, empathy, patience, seeing beyond appearances — then the world will be better for it. And if this story encourages just one person to be that kind of presence in someone’s life, then it was worth telling.