Integrity

When I was six or seven , my dad came upon me in the act of throwing a little wad of paper at a trashcan from a distance of about three feet.  I missed, and of course collapsed in an attitude of melodramatic despair.  I hesitated, knowing I should go pick it up, but feeling lazy.  Thinking I was alone, I started to exit the bathroom.

Dad offered no reprimand.  he offered no indication whatsoever that he had seen anything amiss.  Instead, he knelt down, put his hand (do you feel the bliss contained in those two words, his hand?) on my shoulder, and smiled at me.

I actually don't really remember how he began.  I don't remember how he led into integrity, or its importance.  I remember it was brief.  (My dad would never tell you, but he's a poet.  He expresses himself in beautiful succintnesses.)  I wish I could remember the words he used to describe integrity, but I can't.  But I do remember that I wanted it very much.

I also remember, almost word for word, his explanation of what integrity meant.

"Imagine throwing something at a trashcan and missing.  You could either leave it there or pick it up.  The man that picks it up and throws it away, even when no one is watching--he has integrity."

Then he stood up and left me.  I stood, my young brain turning at the implications of this new idea.

And then I turned suddenly and picked up my garbage.

Interesting, isn't it, the things that affect us?  Often the simplest touch us most profoundly.

My dad knew what I needed to hear and he knew the way I needed to hear it.  He could have chosen to deal with the situation quickly and simply, which a quick reprimand or instruction.  But he didn't, and what he said has stayed with me and guided me my entire life.

So two questions.

1. Who is it that first did this for you?

and

2. Are you endeavoring to do this for others, or just resorting to iron-on patches and scotch tape?