My dad is the type of guy who calls waiters by their first names and tells cashiers about his kids’ school activities.
He has Costco’s phone number saved in his phone and he laughs at sub par jokes.
He’s personable — shortly said.
He’s also the type of guy who appreciates giving back. Being amicable and caring go hand-in-hand, kind of.
During these past few months he’s been volunteering at the local food pantry. Every couple of weeks he spends a few hours of his Saturday mornings helping out. But he doesn’t just stand and scoop oatmeal, he tells stories, I’m sure.
He’s not the type of guy to keep quiet. I can’t attest to what stories he tells, but I know that he shares his life in moments with these people he’s just met. It’s no surprise that they love him.
A few weeks ago there was a potholder lying on our kitchen counter. The kind that are woven by hand with differently colored strings. One of the elderly women at the food pantry had made and given it to my dad, as a way of saying thank you.
Stories go a long way. Everyone’s a storyteller, but only some can make their stories heard. I think my dad is one of the lucky storytellers.
Yesterday, he came home with two new potholders.
They must have been great stories.