What old man?

     My father often told stories to make a point. Rather than ask me to behave in a certain way, for example, he would tell me how he or someone he knew acted in a similar circumstance, setting down an oral example for me to follow. Sometimes I would wonder if there were any truth to his stories, or were they parables created for the present need.

     But, when we were all younger, I was able to verify many of Dad’s stories through relatives who knew him when. So I have doubts about my doubts. Besides, Dad behaved  in ways that reflected the morals he was wrapping up in his stories. He lived his strongly held values out in his daily life. So I pass on this story with every confidence it happened as he related it. If not, it still is a good tale with a telling example of respect  we would be well served to emulate today. And  I’ll ask what you think – a parable, a pointed lesson, a subtle instruction on how I should behave? Or just a story about the kind of boy he was, if implicitly suggesting I do the same?

     The scene: The small dairy farm where Dad was raised. The time: Around 1920, when Dad would have been 12 years old. The action: Dad walking across the farmyard on a warm summer’s day.

     I was walking to the house (Dad told me) when a salesman came driving down the lane. He got out of his car and looked around the yard, at the barn and the house. There was no one around but me.

     “Hey, kid,” the salesman said. “Is your old man at home?”

     “Nope,” I told him.

     “Will your old man be back pretty soon?” he asked.

     “Nope,” I said.

     “Can you tell your old man I was around?” He said.

     “Nope,” I said.

     The salesman stood and looked at me (Dad told me). He shook his head and was getting into his car when my father came out of the barn and walked toward the house.

     “Hey. I thought you said your old man wasn’t home!” the salesman said.

     “That isn’t my old man,” (Dad explained.)

     “That’s my father.”