The Spirit of the Father

The sound of the circular saw filled the room. The 32-year-old man stopped to enjoy the smell of the fresh sawdust and lumber. The father exuded good health with an athletic form and not an ounce overweight.

On the floor beside the father, Sandy—a red-headed six-years-old—searched for something to go with his wooden blocks. What he found was a board mounted on legs. He placed it beside his blocks. With a mallet, he pounded the circular block in the round hole and the square block in the square hole.

Daddy, pleased at what he considered a child’s job, noted Sandy’s satisfaction.

Then the father groaned at the sound of yelling boys.

The source came from the lumber storage room. Once inside the room, the father took time to witness what was going on.

Kim, the twelve-year-old son, said, “You weren’t playing with it.” He hung onto the front end of the large, toy dump truck.

Terri, the ten-year-old son, hung onto the back end of toy truck. “So what! It’s mine!”

Both children yanked their end of truck.

           The father said, “Come here, you two.”

           “Put my truck down, Kim!”

           “I’m going to play with it! Dad told you to share.”

           The stern, but calm, Dad said, “Carry the truck together and come here!” Both boys obeyed. “Now. What’s this all about? Kim, you’re older. You go first.”

           “Terri wasn’t playing with the truck, so I started to,” Kim whined.

           “What is your story, Terri?” asked Dad.

           “It’s mine. I got it for Christmas.” Terri continued with his firm pull on the truck.

           Kim responded with another hard yank.

           The father, being stronger than both, grabbed the toy truck away from both boys.

           “Kim, did you ask Terri first?”

           Kim ignored the question and glared at Terri. “Just because it’s yours, doesn’t mean you will not have to share.”

           The father pursed his lips momentarily before speaking. “Since you two are going to fight over it, I’ll just give the truck to Sandy to play with for now.”

           In perfect unison, Kim and Terri said, “Dad!”

           “I warned you during your last fight. I told you if you didn't change your attitudes, I would give it to someone who would appreciate it, like Sandy.”

           “But he doesn’t play with trucks,” said Terri.

           “It’s a dump truck,” said Dad. “He can put his wooden blocks in it and dump them.”

           Ten years later, Kim and Terri—now young adults—sat at the dining room table. Sandy, now sixteen, joined them.

           “Have you decided,” asked Sandy of the other two, “how to invest the money Dad gave each of you?”

           “Not for sure,” said Kim. “I will ask my accounting teacher for advice.”

           “I’m still a minor,” said Sandy, “but I figure I can still use the time to research my idea. I found some forty-year-old furniture plans. With the measurements I’ve taken from Grandpa’s old chairs, I can design a new line to sell. What about you Terri?”

           Terri crossed his arms and formed a ”V” with his eyebrows. “You would like his old junk. He is so old fashioned.”

           “Yep,” said Kim. “Old fashioned enough to tell me to re-order for oak lumber. Dad threw a fit because I ordered an advertised special . . . At least he is giving us a chance to prove ourselves with this money.”

           “What good will it do?” snarled Terri. “It’s all for the company. I won’t get any good out of it.

           “Why’d he give me any money? He didn’t like my ideas for advertising and modern styles. Obviously, he trusts you more than me.

           “I mean what can you do with a $1000? Nothing!” Terri pouted. “I don’t even care what happens to it.”

           Sandy replied, “Why don’t you ask Dad why he gave you only that much? If you spent more time with him, you would know what is possible.”

           “Dad didn’t appreciate other things I’ve done for him. Why should I believe he will appreciate what I do with this money? If I didn’t have to obey him, I would be freer, happier, and better off.”

           Five years later, the time came to examine the returns on the money the sons had been given to invest.

           “Sandy,” the father and business owner said, “I’m receiving compliments on the new, that is, your line of furniture. And you brought it in under budget. Very good.”

           “Those new orders mean we can expand. Kim, can I depend on you to help us?”

           “Of course, Father. I invested my money in learning accounting. Here,” Kim handed him a paper with graphs and an annual report on the business. “I believe I can do a good job of forecasting with the new computer. It’s calculated in the last page of the budget.”

           “Excellent!” said Father. “Now, how did you invest your money Terri?”

           Terri remained silent, arms crossed, and motionless.

           “Terri?”

           Terri handed him a check.

           Father considered the check, then looked at Terri. “This is the same check I gave you to invest. Not even a little interest? Didn’t you do anything?”

           It’s not my money. I couldn’t even buy enough advertising for us for that amount. You need money—not skill or quality—to make a business today.”

           “That’s not how I built this business!” stated the owner while controlling his temper. “I built it by caring about the quality of my furniture. And being devoted to my employees and customers.

           “Just like years ago and that toy dump truck.” The owner snatched the check, “I’ll give it to someone else. Kim, void this check.” He handed it to Kim and continued, “Terri, I’m putting you at the bottom of the assembly line so you can learn hard work and the business.”

           Kim voided the check by tearing it up into little pieces.

           Terri exploded. “I’m tired of your ideas about what works and what doesn’t. I demand my share of the business. Today.” Terri lowered his voice a little. “I’ll show you how to run a business.”

           Father said, “Kim, make the arrangements to get his share of the company.”

Kim grinned at being rid of his brother. “Gladly.”

“But, Terri, you have to make it completely on your own. You won’t live in my house.”

           Terri observed out his office window, Mr. Bauman , his business building’s landlord. He came through the door under the sign “Terri’s Furniture for Less.” The building inside showed plenty of machinery, but no people to run them.

           “Well, Mr. Terri Drayer, it’s the first of the month and I need my rent money.” He held out his hand. When Terri didn’t immediately offer anything, he said, “The rent is due. Do you have it?”

           “No sir,” he said meekly. Then came the excuses. “It took more money than I thought for the equipment. Then I had to replace workers who wouldn’t show up or goofed off with ones who did the work right.” Whining, he continued, “They cost more. Then the advertising--.”

           “I don’t care,” said Mr. Bauman “I run my business renting buildings, not a charity. The first two years you were on time with the rent. Then it started to be two weeks late. Finally, I allowed you six months without payment.”

           “When Terri opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Bauman immediately cut him off. “No more time.”

“You won’t give me any more time?!” Terri said.

           “That’s right. But I tell you what. I’ll take all the equipment in trade for the back rent.”

           “But—”

           “Take it or leave it. Out within thirty days, or I sue.”

           “I have no place to go with it all. Even if I found a place for the machines, I would have no place to go with the furniture.”

           The landlord saw the lumber in the corner. “Tell you what. Give me the lumber for hauling all the wood and furniture and everything off. The high school pep rally is having a bonfire, and they could use the wood.”

           Terri glumly looked at the walls, as if they could help. He took a deep breath.

           “I agree. Now where will I get money to live on?”

           The landlord examined all corners of the equipment. Without even looking up, he said, “They are hiring green bean pickers at the edge of town.”

           Terri groaned.

           Fresh air did not make the job of picking beans any more pleasant. Terri had to stoop over to pick them. He moved his half-filled basket by slamming it to the ground.

           “You better not do that,” said his co-worker in the next row. “They dock for bruised beans.”

           An irritable Terri said, “I’m not used to it. Fifty cents per basket is ridiculous.”

           The co-worker stretched his neck to see into Terri’s basket. “You sure aren’t picking many beans. To make money you need to pick faster and not take breaks.”

He moved ahead of Terri with almost a full basket. “Did you use to have another job?”

Terri nodded.

“Why’d you ever quit?!”

“I thought I could do better than my father.”

The co-worker finished his basket and moved out of range for talking.

Terri spoke to himself. “I thought my father wasted money on benefits on behalf of the employees. Then he gave shares of the company to workers. I didn’t understand that. Yeah. Dad was generous like that. Even the janitor received benefits.”

Terri straightened up, stretched, and considered his two-thirds filled basket. “What do I have to lose? I’ll go back to my father. I’ll go back to him and say, ‘I made a fool of myself. I used all the inheritance. I am not worthy of being called your son. Just let me be a janitor or some small job.’ That’s what I’ll do.”

Now alone in the expanded office, Kim and Father discussed expanding the manufacturing building.

Sandy rushed in, so out of breath, he could only speak one word at a time. “I . . . saw . . . him.”

“Are you sure?” asked Father.

Confused, Kim asked, “Who is it?”

Sandy said, “I’ve been watching every day like you told me.” Pointing at the exit, he said, “He’s at the end of the driveway.”

“Get the steaks out, Sandy! We’re going to celebrate tonight.”

To Kim, Father said, We’ll give Terri the keys to the new car. Let’s go out to meet him.”

“NO! I won’t go with you. All these years, I’ve stayed here and done what you asked.

“But you never so much as offered me use of the company truck. And here, as soon as that son comes, you say ‘Get the keys! Get the steaks!’ Never mind he poured hard-earned money down rat holes.”

The older man looked on his son, Kim, with sympathy. “Son you are always with me. I can’t tell you how much that has been worth to me. I’ve always considered what is mine is yours.

“It is right to rejoice now. My son was dead and lost, but now is found and alive.”