I attended the funeral of a close friend’s father yesterday. His name was Ron. Although I only spent a small amount of time around Ron, he was one of those men that a small amount of time was all you needed to know for certain that he was, in fact, a great man. By “great” I don’t mean famous, or rich, or a business tycoon. He wasn’t surrounded by models, or fancy cars, or cameras. He wasn’t loud or boisterous and didn’t live in a mansion. His greatness wasn’t the world’s greatness. And yet, as I squirmed in my uncomfortable folding chair in the back of the near standing-room-only service, the largest attended funeral in recent memory according to the preacher, I was overcome by desire to be a great man like Ron.