A Lesson From My Father
We come by business naturally in our family. Each of the
seven children in our family worked in our father's store,
"Our Own Hardware-Furniture Store," in Mott, North Dakota, a
small town on the prairies. We started working by doing odd
jobs like dusting, arranging shelves and wrapping, and later
graduated to serving customers. As we worked and watched, we
learned that work was about more than survival and making a
sale.
One lesson stands out in my mind. It was shortly before
Christmas. I was in the eighth grade and was working
evenings, straightening the toy section. A little boy, five
or six years old, came in. He was wearing a brown tattered
coat with dirty worn cuffs. His hair was straggly, except
for a cowlick that stood straight up from the crown of his
head. His shoes were scuffed and his one shoelace was torn.
The little boy looked poor to me--too poor to afford to buy
anything. He looked around the toy section, picked up this
item and that, and carefully put them back in their place.
Dad came down the stairs and walked over to the boy. His
steel blue eyes smiled and the dimple in his cheek stood out
as he asked the boy what he could do for him. The boy said
he was looking for a Christmas present to buy his brother. I
was impressed that Dad treated him with the same respect as
any adult. Dad told him to take his time and look around. He
did.
After about 20 minutes, the little boy carefully picked up a
toy plane, walked up to my dad and said, "How much for this,
Mister?"
"How much you got?" Dad asked.
The little boy held out his hand and opened it. His hand was
creased with wet lines of dirt from clutching his money. In
his hand lay two dimes, a nickel and two pennies-- 27 cents.
The price on the toy plane he'd picked out was $3.98.
"That'll just about do it," Dad said as he closed the sale.
Dad's reply still rings in my ears. I thought about what I'd
seen as I wrapped the present. When the little boy walked
out of the store, I didn't notice the dirty, worn coat, the
straggly hair, or the single torn shoelace. What I saw was a
radiant child with a treasure.
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this
story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or
remove, as the circumstances dictate.
Thanks to LolaConley@aol.com