The pastor called me to come forward. I walked to the pulpit
confident and proud. I looked out at my family. Some wore somber
expressions. Others had faces still damp with tears. Then I gazed down
at the shiny black coffin crowned with yellow flowers.
My father,
Charlie Lyons, was gone. It was my turn at his funeral earlier this year
to pay tribute to the man who taught me so much growing up on the
North side. How do you sum up a lifetime in 10 minutes?
I flashed
to Dad holding the handlebar and jogging alongside my bike until I felt
ready to ride on my own. I saw him pulling up to my broken-down car at
night, doing a quick fix and trailing me home. I thought of the hug we
shared at my wedding.
Then, I started talking about a special
moment I draw from now. Dad was always full of advice, but one of the
biggest lessons he taught me one summer was about having a strong work
ethic. When my brother and I were growing up, we mowed yards during the
summer to earn pocket change. Dad was our salesman. He pitched our
service to neighbors and offered a price they could not refuse. My
brother and I got $10 per yard. Some yards were a half-acre. I later
found out our friends were charging $20 or more for the same amount of
work.
Every time we headed out to mow lawns, Dad was there to
watch. I used to wonder why he came with us. He stood supervising our
work in the sticky Florida heat when he could have been inside relaxing
with air conditioning and an icy drink.
One day we were cutting
our next-door neighbor’s yard. She always waited until the grass was
knee-high to call us over. To make matters worse, we had an old lawn
mower that kept cutting off as we plowed through her backyard jungle.
This particular afternoon, I was finishing up and was tired and sweaty. I
pictured the tall glass of Kool-Aid I would gulp in a minute to cool
down.
I was just about to cut off the lawn mower when I saw Dad
pointing to one lone blade. I thought about the chump change I was
getting paid for cutting grass so high it almost broke the mower. I
ignored him and kept walking. Dad called me out and yelled, “You missed a
piece.”
I frowned, hoping he would let me slide and go home. He
kept pointing. So beat and deflated, I went back to cut that piece of
grass. I mumbled to myself: “That one piece isn’t hurting anyone. Why
won’t he just let it go?”
But when I reached adulthood, I
understood his message: When you’re running a business, the work you do
says a great deal about you. If you want to be seen as an entrepreneur
with integrity, you must deliver a quality product. That single blade of
grass meant the job was not done.
Other neighbors took notice of
the good work we did and we soon garnered more business. We started out
with one client, but by the end of the summer we had five, which was all
we cared to handle because we wanted time to enjoy our summer break
from school.
The lesson my dad taught me stayed with me: Be
professional. If you say you are going to perform a job at a certain
time, keep your word. Give your customers the kind of service you would
like to receive. It shows how sincere you are and how much pride you
take in your work.
Before I knew it, my tribute was over. I saw my
wife jump to her feet in an ovation. The pastor embraced me. People
rushed to shake my hand. Though Dad’s body lay inside the coffin, I felt
his spirit there. I pictured him standing in the sanctuary, wearing the
white T-shirt and blue shorts he did on grass-cutting days. Always
there for me and always proud.
By Patrick A. Lyons
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