Forgive Forget

Three Sundays ago our pastor gave a sermon on mercy and forgiveness. At the end, he said, “When you leave today, think about someone you need to forgive, then write them a letter. Don’t go into details and don’t expect a response.” Then he said: “Now some of you might recall doing this a few years ago. Maybe it’s time for a reminder.”

I’m not sure he was looking at me,  yet I knew what he meant. About 15 years ago, Father John made the same recommendation – and I listened. There was someone who had hurt me… and I couldn’t get past it. Although I hadn’t seen that person in years, it continued to bother me.

So I bought a card, wrote a short note, mailed it… and let the past go. That felt wonderful – even though, as expected, he never acknowledged receiving it. I didn’t see him again for more than a decade, and instead of holding on to that ‘thing,’ I was able to visit with him and enjoy our brief time together.

After we left the church three weeks ago, I told Kathy: “I thought hard and there’s no one that comes to mind.” Fast forward to last Sunday. During Mass, out of nowhere, two faces popped into my head… and I knew immediately I needed to forgive them.

Both people are deceased. So instead of writing a letter I simply said aloud: “I am no longer holding that against you.” Releasing what they did relieved my apparently long-held – and long-forgotten – grudge.

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Eyes Opened

1966. Fort Worth. Age six.

Back then, a black woman named Geneva would ride the bus each week from – as she said – “the other part of town” and clean our home. She was always nice to me and I really loved her.

“Geneva,” I said, “Know where I got this?” as I showed her my shiny new yellow Tonka Toy dump truck.

“No,” she replied. “Tell me, David.”

“Stole it off a dead N*****.”

I can still envision the sad look on her face – and clearly recall my mother taking me into the bathroom and washing my mouth out with soap. I quickly understood how bad it was… and how much I had hurt this person who knew me since I was a baby.

Last week, the president made divisive comments about NFL players who chose to kneel during the National Anthem, suggesting team owners: “Get that son of a bitch off the field right now. Out! He’s fired. He’s fired!” This led to a strong rebuttal from players in several sports, the media and many owners. Yesterday, players stood or kneeled arm-in-arm – including with some of the men who sign their paychecks – in peaceful protest.

The president and many others turned this into respect for the flag and those who serve our country defending it. What many forget is that Colin Kaepernick took a knee to protest African American men being killed by law enforcement officers who didn’t receive punishment for their actions.

“I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color,” he told NFL Media afteward. “To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder.”

Now is when dialogue and discourse are essential. Yet so many are stuck on ‘disrespecting the flag’ that the real issue – what’s it like to be African American in today’s United States – isn’t being addressed. That needs to change. It’s time to acknowledge injustice exists and do something about it.

If we end up in a better place, while protesting may have cost Kaepernick his career, perhaps it will lead to him being remembered for something much bigger than playing quarterback in the NFL.

Epilogue: We moved to the country when I was eight and Geneva no longer came to our house. Yet she continued to help clean my father’s furniture store for many years. I would see her there often… and she always gave me big hugs. She had long forgotten the inappropriate words of a six-year-old. I never will… and I’m thankful for that.

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Deja Vu

[In 2008, Hurricane Ike took direct aim on Houston. The morning before it struck, I wrote my newsletter about awaiting a hurricane. Here we go again. In the next 12 hours, Hurricane Harvey is going to hit the Texas coast. I think now would be a good time to share my thoughts from nine years ago.]

Fluffy white clouds flow by outside my window, drifting in the breeze among brilliant blue skies. Two squirrels chase each other up and down pine trees in our front yard, playfully tossing bark onto the green lawn below. High-pitched screeching sounds emanate from their tiny mouths, the only noise from an otherwise silent cul de sac.

It’s 9:00 a.m. CDT on Friday, a beautiful September morning. A little more than 375 miles away, in the heated Gulf of Mexico the waters are surging, fueled by the swirling winds of a hurricane. In 15 hours, the center of Ike will make landfall on the Texas coast – most likely near Galveston – 80 miles from our home on the northwest side of Houston.

Residents of Louisiana, Mississippi and Florida deal with this uncertainty often, and you’ve seen the damage a hurricane can bring. In the decade we’ve lived here, only Rita three years ago this month caused as much anxiety as this storm. That time, the nation’s fourth largest city evacuated. For us, it was an 18-hour journey to travel 275 miles to family in Fort Worth. Four days later, a four-hour drive returned us to our untouched home.

This time we’re riding out the storm. Over the past two days, Ike has taken a more northern path. What was projected on Wednesday to be a direct hit Cat 3 appears to be losing strength and tailing to the right. The majority of Houston may end up on the clean and less severe side. Nevertheless, 75 mph winds could throttle our home for eight hours. It will be a long night. Power will be lost. Many will suffer damage.
. . . . . .

I provide executive coaching for several high-level leaders at the company that services electricity and gas transmission in our area. By coincidence, I had scheduled for Thursday a shadowing exercise – in which I observe the client interacting with others and provide immediate feedback.

Arriving on the 46th floor of their downtown office building, I knew it wouldn’t be my typical experience. The first thing on the agenda was a conference call in which leaders throughout the organization – from the CEO to the person in charge of catering – discussed and fine-tuned plans for Ike. They will operate with an “all hands on deck” approach until the storm passes, then things really get intense as they restore power, which could take three weeks in some places.

The key to recovering from a situation like Ike is to establish procedures far in advance. Their 2008 Emergency Operations Plan was finalized in May, weeks before the beginning of the hurricane season. There was a dry run that month and a real test a few weeks ago that resulted in no damage when tropical storm Eduordo fizzled.

As my slow-reacting neighbors scampering around to find water, non-perishable food and gasoline are experiencing, you don’t get ready for a hurricane when it’s knocking on your door. The same goes for preparedness in your business. When it comes to planning for your future – whether strategically, emergency or exit strategy – don’t wait until the moment arrives to start thinking, “What do we need to do?” The time for those thoughts is today.

I’m not sure how the next 24 hours will progress, but the sun will return soon. Residents will repair, rebuild and re-energize. Plus, I’ll finally get around to visiting the local lumberyard to buy boards for our windows. No sense worrying about winds and flying objects when the next hurricane arrives.

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Singular Focus

The first Chick-fil-A sandwich I ever ate was more than 30 years ago in Ft. Worth. The father of a guy I knew was their regional franchise director – and I stopped in soon after he told me about it. That was the first of at least a dozen visits a year, so it’s safe to say, I’ve eaten more than 300 of them… each served with a couple dill pickle chips on top.

While Chick-fil-A expanded its menu over the decades, the classic crispy fried chicken breast sandwich is still the best seller. Those ‘Eat mor Chikin’ cows in the television commercials and on billboards around the country know a good thing when they see it.

Recently I read the average Chick-fil-A does more than $3 million in sales annually. That’s a lot of sandwiches at $3 each. I’ve heard the location right by our house is one of the best in the system… and since there is a line nonstop from early morning, through rush-time lunch, mid-afternoon and well into the dinner hours, their sales must be amazing. (Imagine if they opened on Sundays!)

In contrast, the franchise that started the chicken craze way back in the 50’s with its secret recipe – despite a recent run of television spots featuring well-known actors impersonating the Colonel – averages just under $1 million per location. KFC (rebranded to lessen the Fried focus) doesn’t quite meet the AAAA grade of its rival.

The lesson here comes straight out of Jack Palance in “City Slickers”. Find your one thing and do it really well. Multiple that by 2,000+ locations and you impact a lot of people with a smiling “Welcome to Chick-fil-A” and a cheery “My pleasure to serve you” sendoff.

Note: About 10 years ago, I started ordering the healthier grilled version on most visits to Chick-fil-A. Getting older has its drawbacks.

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Remember When

Since I was a teenager less than 10 people have given me a haircut – and 98.24% of those clippings have been by four people: two in Ft. Worth and two since we moved to the Houston area. During the past dozen years only one person has taken her razor (at a 2.5 setting) and clippers to my hair.

I followed Jaki to two salons, an entrepreneurial venture on her own, and back to the second place she worked. During various stretches she’s given haircuts to all three of our kids… and still squeezes me into her schedule on short notice.

Recently, the salon’s owner sold to a couple that emigrated from Venenzuela three years ago to escape the economic turmoil there, and the wife is running the business. The first time I walked in the door under the new ownership, as Jaki led me to her station, I commented: “Seems quiet in here today.” She said: “Three of our employees quit this week.”

When I asked why, her response caught me off guard: “What they told me is they don’t like the fact she doesn’t speak English well.” I probed for a deeper reason, and Jaki said that appeared to be the only one.

When she finished the haircut and I paid, the new owner was sitting at the reception desk. I introduced myself and asked if I could speak to her outside. She raised her eyebrows, and it occurred to me that she probably thought I was going to complain. Instead, I told her how impressed I am that she bought the salon and that I would continue to be a loyal customer.

I also offered to provide some free coaching to help her in these initial months of business ownership. She hasn’t taken me up on that; however, I hope she does. From my seat in the barber’s chair, the best way to offset insensitivity is to reach out and embrace those who don’t look, speak and think like me. After all, 160 years ago next month when my great-great grandparents arrived in America from Austria-Hungary they didn’t understand a bit of English.

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