The old man looked at me, aghast at the language he heard spilling from my mouth.  At eighteen, I wasn’t the model of moral integrity.  By that, I mean that I was one of those two-faced hypocrites you talk about when you want an excuse to stay away from church.  In certain company, I was the paragon of virtue, all spit and polish, as straight-laced as you would want.  But, with the right individuals (or wrong, if you prefer), I acted as badly as they and I could swear with the most proficient.  I was in such company today, and I was turning the air blue, as I argued with a co-worker.

I had seen the man come into the drugstore, but I knew him to be one of those who didn’t mind the language; had even heard a filthy joke or two from him.  I wasn’t concerned about what he would think.  Or, so I thought.  As I spouted off, he turned and looked at me and the disgust on his face was obvious.  “You’re Harry Phillips’ boy, aren’t you?”  I replied (a bit reluctantly) in the affirmative.  His reply will ring in my ears until I die.  “You don’t favor him much.”

I don’t remember a lot after that in the conversation, but when he left, my boss informed me that the man worked with my dad at the Post Office.  I wasn’t worried about him talking to Dad.  After all, I was eighteen and was an adult, don’t you see?  I wasn’t afraid, but I was shamed beyond belief.  This man, regardless of what I thought of his spiritual state; regardless of his own practices with respect to his speech, understood that I wasn’t living up to the example set by my father.  As I have thought about it over the years, other aspects of the situation become clear.  My father walked what he talked, even when he was in a place where it wasn’t the common practice.  He wasn’t a chameleon, changing to fit his environment, but he was steadfast in how he lived out his beliefs.

I remember a friend at school once talking with me about his dad’s cursing.  I told him my dad didn’t ever talk like that.  His response was laughter.  “Of course, he cusses!  He just doesn’t do it when you’re around. I bet when he hits his thumb with a hammer, he does it then.”  I responded that I was sure he didn’t.  Even now, after fifty-four years of life, I have never heard one untoward utterance from my father’s mouth.  Is he a perfect man?  Not so much.  I’m not so sure I could relate well to a perfect father.  But, his intent is to live out what he believes and he works at it continuously.

Dad’s consistency in his talk and walk was once a frustration to this wayward son.  And at eighteen, it served as a wake-up call, when a stranger “took me to school”.  Today?  I hope I look a little more like my dad.  Well, the physical things, I couldn’t change anyway.  I’ve got his nose and eyes, and even some invisible traits that can’t be easily altered, such as the high cholesterol.  But a constant walk in the same direction he’s taken?  I’d very much like to favor my father in that way.

I hope the family resemblance shows.  Happy Father’s Day! 

“Honor your father and your mother..”
(Ephesians 6:2)

“You don’t choose your family.  They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.”
(Bishop Desmond Tutu~African spiritual leader)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012 All Rights Reserved.