I remember many years ago when I was a kid, my New York dad was transferred to Atlanta, Georgia.
Let's say the adjustment for this blunt, yeah, sometimes even rude Italian Northerner, wasn't easy.
Southerners were sweet. He was not.
After we moved, I'll never forget some friendly Atlantan kindly suggesting, for what seemed like the umpteenth time, "y'awl come back!"
To which my exasperated dad shot back, "when?!"
Let's just say my dad was not a talker.
But although he didn't offer a lot of words, he was true to "his" words.
If he told you he'd check in on a client, he would.
If he promised, — through hell or high water — he'd be in the audience for a son's big school event, he was.
He's gone now. But looking at the state of shabby service so rampant now, I think a lot about him now.
About what he'd think of the contractor, who makes an appointment, but doesn't keep it. Or the cable guy, who says he'll stop by, but doesn't bother.
Or the car salesman, who promises the world, but doesn't remember.
We live in a world where talk is cheap and promises even cheaper.
We accept it as part of life because we're nice ...even though the scheisters we encounter are not.
Long before Ronald Reagan said we should trust, but verify, there was my dad, who said, we should smile, but remember.
Those who do what they say, versus those who don't do at all.
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