I tried to get his attention a couple of more times with no success, and then realized what had happened.  He obviously had tried to silence his phone but had somehow cut on the speaker instead.  I could hear him and the people he was talking to crystal clear, but he couldn’t hear me.

So I decided to hang up.  Just before I did, though, I hesitated and listened to what he was saying.  He was talking about a trip that he and my mom and our daughter and two of her cousins had just taken to D.C.  He described the National Cathedral:  where it was located, what it looked like, how much they enjoyed it.  I could hear the lady and her husband asking questions.  He told them about a trip that they are about to take the rest of the grandkids on in a few weeks.  Then he talked to them about what they needed in their store.

My dad is a hardware salesman.  He has been since before I was born.  For my entire life I have known that he was traveling the eastern part of South Carolina selling the countless little hardware stores that dot the state.  His is a life of travel, conversation, and sales.  I guess he’s logged more miles than any human being I’ve ever known, and he’s sold a whole lot of hardware along the way.

As I listened to him talk it occured to me that I was getting a glimpse into something I had always knownbut never really known:  what my dad does and who he is during the week.

So I listened.  I sat at my desk and listened to every single word.

I listened to my dad talk for 28.5 minutes…and he never knew I was listening.

And this is what I learned:

My dad loves his family, particularly his grandchildren.

My dad loves to laugh.

My dad is good at his job and wants to work with his customers.

My dad doesn’t use profanity.

My dad doesn’t stand around the hardware counter telling crude stories.

My dad is the same man in a hardware store in rural SC on a Wednesday afternoon that he is in church on Sunday morning at 11 a.m.

My dad has such integrity that he can cut his cell phone on and let you listen in and you won’t hear anything that will make you ashamed.

We are indeed formed by little scraps of wisdom.  And yesterday my dad gave me maybe the greatest gift he’s ever given me:  a 28.5 minute scrap of wisdom, imparted to me without him knowing it, that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

So thanks, dad.  Thanks for being who you are.

I’m proud to be your son.