We never know when....
Lindon's Keyboard - We never know when....
When I was growing up, my father was playing football in the NFL. I remember one Saturday morning during the off-season when he asked me if I'd like to go down to the park with him while he worked out.
After a short game of catch, the workout began. We lined up at the end of the field and both took off running wind sprints. By the second one, I was exhausted and stopped running. I picked up my football and played catch by myself. My dad said nothing. He just continued to sprint from one end of the field to the other, line back up and sprint again.
I don't really remember how long he ran for; it seemed like an hour or more. What I do remember more than anything though -- was how hard he was working, and how hard he was breathing. It seemed like he ran every sprint like it was a race that he had to win, but there was no one else out there with him. Finally he stopped, bent over on his knees and tried to catch his breath. I was amazed at how hard he had been working, and I remember how afraid it seemed to make me feel. It was as if I was worried I'd have to do what he did.
I asked him why he was running so hard, and he simply said, "I need to get in shape for the season." No one made him do it, no one watched over him; he simply took it upon himself and that left a strong impression on me.
When I was twelve, I went on a camping trip with a group of guys. It was 1968, and the Peace and Love generation was going strong. So our trip to Big Sur, California was going to be especially exciting. We had heard it was a favorite hangout of "real" authentic Hippies (that's like "real" cowboys, as opposed to "wannabe" cowboys.)
Sure enough on our first day we ran into one. Our meeting occurred when the four of us were walking back to our campsite after a trip to the little market where we had bought candy and sodas. I don't remember a thing that was said; but I do remember that I thought this fellow we ran into might have been Arlo Guthrie. He looked a lot like him, and had a guitar with a big peace sign on it.
I don't remember his real name, or anything else that was said, but something happened that day I'll never forget. After a couple of minutes of conversation, one of the guys I was with unwrapped a candy bar and let the wrapper fall to the ground. Arlo (that's what I still call him) simply stepped over, reached down and picked up the wrapper and put it in his pocket. The conversation didn't skip a beat, and no acknowledgment of his act was ever made. I remember feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable, for I knew that I had littered the area as well.
Shortly thereafter, we parted. After walking about fifty yards, I turned around just in time to see him take the wrapper from his pocket and put it in a trash can at the park entrance. He never said a word, never lectured, preached or passed judgment on us. His actions echoed in my head, and he taught me a very special lesson that day and for that I am grateful.
Do you ever wonder who might be learning from you?
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