We all have someone who changed our lives—someone who saw potential in us before we saw it in ourselves. These are our IOU people—the ones who shape who we are, influence what we do, and inspire us to live with purpose. For me, that person was my cousin, Dom Famularo. His impact on my life went beyond music—it was about passion, connection, and living with intention. Who’s your IOU person? The one you owe for shaping the person you’ve become?
Throughout our lives, certain people leave an undeniable mark—not just on what we do, but on who we become. These are our IOU people—the ones who shape our I (SelfCulture), influence our O (Outward Actions), and uplift us to Receive the U (Upward Living) of PH2E: Peacefulness, Happiness, Healthiness, and Excellence.
For me, one of the most profound IOU people in my life is my cousin, Dom Famularo.
From the very beginning, Dom wasn’t just someone I looked up to—he was someone who actively shaped my journey. He didn’t just encourage me; he showed up for me. He didn’t just inspire from a distance; he got right in the middle of it.
One of the greatest gifts he gave me was music—not just as a skill, but as a way of life.
But real leadership—the kind that’s sustainable, fulfilling, and impactful—starts from the inside out. It’s not about doing more; it’s about leading with intention.
Dom wasn’t just my cousin—he was like an older brother. He was ten years older than me, and from the time I was a young boy, he took me under his wing in ways that would change my life forever.
When I was just eight years old, Dom was eighteen—already a talented drummer, full of energy, and someone who seemed larger than life. While most teenagers were wrapped up in their own world, Dom made time for me. Every week, without fail, he would drive to my house and give me a guitar lesson.
Now, Dom was a drummer—one of the best, in fact. He would later become known as the “Drumming’s Global Ambassador”, inspiring musicians across the globe. But despite being a drummer, he saw something in me and encouraged me to pick up the guitar.
For three years, he dedicated his time to teaching me—not just how to play notes, but how to feel the music, how to express emotion through the instrument, and how to embrace the joy of learning. As my passion and skills grew, Dom saw that I was ready for more. He wanted me to learn from the best, to deepen my understanding beyond what he could teach. That’s when he introduced me to Joe Carbone, a renowned guitarist who had studied with the legendary Joe Pass. Because of Dom’s influence, I had the privilege of learning from one of the best, studying chord melodies, technique, and musical expression that would shape my lifelong passion for music.
At the time, I thought he was just teaching me how to play guitar. But in reality, Dom was teaching me something far greater—how to bring what’s inside me to life, how to connect deeply with something and share it outwardly.
Looking back, I now realize that what Dom was teaching me through music was the very foundation of the IOU Framework I now live by and share with others. Music wasn’t just about playing the right notes—it was about feeling them, living them, and letting them flow from the inside out.
It was about knowing your I—connecting deeply with the music within you, the emotion behind every chord, every melody. It was about owning your O—translating that feeling through the instrument, making the guitar an extension of yourself, expressing something real and authentic. And in doing that, it was about receiving the U—creating an experience that uplifted others, filling the room with energy, joy, and PH2E: Peacefulness, Happiness, Healthiness, and Excellence.
That’s what Dom did. Every time he played, taught, or even just entered a room, he lived IOU without ever calling it that. He connected deeply with his purpose (his I), shared it outwardly with boundless enthusiasm (his O), and left everyone he encountered a little better than before (his U). He showed me, long before I ever put it into words, that the greatest impact we have comes not from what we do, but from who we are and how we share it with the world.
But Dom’s influence didn’t stop with music. His energy, his outlook, and the way he approached life itself became a lesson—one that shaped the way I live, lead, and connect with others.
Dom didn’t just inspire me to play guitar—he inspired me to aspire. That was one of his favorite phrases, and he lived it fully. He was the type of person who made you believe in possibilities, who encouraged you to go after your passions with relentless enthusiasm.
Our connection wasn’t just about music. We lived life together in the fullest way possible:
He wasn’t just a teacher—he was a mentor, a guide, and a friend. Through his example, I learned that life isn’t just about mastering a skill; it’s about sharing your gifts with others, lifting people up, and embracing every experience with passion.
The night of my wedding was filled with joy, laughter, and music—the kind of celebration where love and family take center stage. But for me, there was one moment that stood out beyond all the others.
As Ann and I took the dance floor for our first dance, the song playing wasn’t just any love song—it was our song, one I had written myself, “All I Need Is You.” But what made it even more special was who was behind the band that night.
Dom.
He had put together an incredible group of musicians, including Joe Carbone, the very guitarist he had introduced me to years before when I first began playing. And later that night, something unforgettable happened—our family took over the stage. My cousin Vin grabbed the saxophone, Peter took the bass, Dom jumped on the drums, and my cousin AnnMarie sang with me. It was pure magic—one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments where music, family, and love all blended into something greater than any one of us.
That was Dom. He didn’t just inspire from a distance—he jumped in, lived in the moment, and made sure everyone around him felt that same joy.
Years later, I found myself writing another deeply personal song, this time for my mother’s 90th birthday. I titled it “Thank You, Mother,” a tribute to a woman who had given so much, not just to me, but to our entire family. And of course, Dom was there that night too, celebrating his aunt in the way only he could—telling stories, making everyone laugh, and lifting the entire room with his presence.
Life continued on, and so did Dom—spreading inspiration, energy, and music to everyone he encountered. But then, one day, everything shifted.
Dom shared news—he was fighting cancer.
Even in the face of enormous challenge, his spirit never wavered. He was the same Dom—full of life, humor, and encouragement. No matter how difficult his treatments became, he never let it define him. Instead, he focused on lifting up everyone around him, making sure that every conversation, every interaction, was filled with positivity and purpose.
By the time my daughter Amanda and her husband Mike got married, Dom was deep into his battle. He wanted so badly to be there, to celebrate with us, but his treatments made it impossible. Still, he was there in spirit.
I had written a song for Amanda, one that captured everything I felt as her father—every memory, every lesson, every bit of love that would always be with her. I titled it “The Love of a Father.” Even though Dom couldn’t attend, I made sure he heard it. When I first played it for him, his reaction was exactly what I expected—pure Dom. He listened with that familiar spark in his eyes, taking in every note, every lyric. And then, with the same enthusiasm he had always shown me, he smiled, nodded, and said, “That’s it. That’s beautiful.”
That’s who he was. Even in his hardest days, he was still lifting others, still finding joy in the moment, still inspiring to aspire.
But the fight was getting harder. The treatments were taking their toll. Dom had been staying close to home, conserving his energy for the battle ahead. Yet, when my 60th birthday arrived a few months later, there was no way he was going to miss it.
He chose to be present. He chose to inspire. He chose to uplift.
For days afterward, people told me how much they felt his presence. They talked about how engaging he was, how he made them laugh, how he had a way of making everyone feel like the most important person in the room. Even those who knew about his battle couldn’t believe the energy he brought that night.
That was Dom. No matter what he was facing, he gave everything he had to the moment. Even in the hardest of times, his greatest joy was making others feel alive.
In the final weeks of his life, Dom’s body was growing weaker, but his spirit never faded. Just 23 days before he passed, on Labor Day, he came to our house one last time. He arrived with his family, and together with my mom, my cousin Paul, and my family, we spent the day exactly how Dom always wanted—laughing, talking, sharing stories, and soaking in the simple beauty of a sunny afternoon in the backyard.
It felt like any other gathering, but looking back, I realize now that it was a gift—a final moment to just be together. What makes it even more profound now is that my mom was there, too. She has since passed—another IOU person whose story I will share another day. But on that afternoon, she was with us, sitting in the backyard, surrounded by family, soaking in the love that she had created over a lifetime.
And like so many times in our lives, the day wouldn’t be complete without music.
We didn’t plan it. We never did. But at some point, my cousin and I grabbed guitars, and Dom—despite everything he was going through—joined in. We pulled together a makeshift setup from what I had around the house—a snare, a cymbal, and a cajón. He started by playing with his hands, rolling his fingers on the snare drum to create a soft yet driving rhythm while playing the cajón with his other hand, feeling every beat as only he could. Then, for certain parts, he picked up his drumsticks, adding just the right touch—that familiar magic only he knew how to bring.
We played several songs, but one stood out above the rest.
We played Thank You, Mother.
The song I had written for my mom years earlier suddenly took on a new meaning. As we sang, I looked at her—watching, listening, taking in every word, every note. It was as if, in that moment, I was giving her the tribute she deserved while she was still here to hear it. I was thanking her for my life, for all she had done, for every sacrifice, every lesson, every ounce of love she had poured into our family.
And Dom—true to who he was—played with everything he had left. He poured every ounce of himself into the music, connecting to every beat, every moment, as if he knew this was the last time we would play together. It wasn’t just a song anymore. It was a farewell.
I believe that was the last time Dom made music with the instrument he loved, pouring his heart into every beat. And the last time my mother heard the song that was written just for her.
Thankfully, that moment lives on—It was captured on video, a memory I will cherish forever.
Just 23 days later, Dom was gone.
And not long after, so was my mother.
But that day, for one beautiful moment, we were all together, making music one last time.
Sadly, Dom passed away—far too soon. But his impact lives on—not just in my life, but in the lives of the countless people he inspired around the world.
The lessons he taught me extend beyond music. They are woven into my leadership philosophy, my belief in the inside-out approach to life, and my commitment to helping others find their I, Own their O, and Receive the U.
When I reflect on my life, I can see how Dom influenced my I—he inspired a lifelong love of music that became part of my SelfCulture. That love led to outward actions—decades of playing, performing, and finding joy through music. And through that, I’ve experienced Upward Living—music has brought me peace, happiness, and a deeper sense of connection.
That’s what an IOU Person does. They don’t just teach you something; they transform you from the inside out.
We all have someone like this in our lives—someone who saw potential in us before we saw it in ourselves. Someone who inspired us in ways we never fully realized until later.
So, take a moment to think:
Better yet—tell them. If they’re still with you, reach out and let them know what they’ve meant to you. And if they’re no longer here, honor them by carrying forward their impact, sharing their lessons, and living with the same passion they instilled in you.
I was fortunate to have Dom Famularo as one of my IOU people. His influence will stay with me forever.
Now, I ask you: Who’s your IOU person?
Who do you owe for shaping the person you’ve become? Let them know.
And for everything, IOU Dom!
Learn more and how to embed the Life Anchors into your life, and the lives of your family, your team, and/or your organization and receive Upward Living and more PH2E!
