When we finished eating, the teen stood up to leave. He paused by our table, his earlier edge replaced by sincerity. “Sir,” he said quietly, “I really like what you said. My mom’s always telling me to stop trying to ‘shock people.’ Maybe I’ll try something that makes them smile instead.”
My father chuckled softly. “That would be a fine start, son. Just don’t lose your color. The world needs people brave enough to be themselves — and kind enough to care about others while doing it.”
The boy grinned before walking away.
My father watched him go, then turned to me with that familiar twinkle in his eye. “You see, kid,” he said, “people think they have to shout to be seen. But the quietest acts — a smile, a kind word — are what people remember you for.”
I laughed softly. “You always did know how to turn a moment into a sermon.”
He pushed away his empty bowl with a smile. “Nah. Sermons tell people what to do. I just tell them what life taught me — and it took long enough.”
We lingered in the food court, watching everyday scenes unfold. Families hurried past with shopping bags. Children tugged at parents for ice cream. A janitor mopped a far corner, blending into the background — until my father caught his eye and gave him a respectful nod. The man straightened, surprised, and nodded back with gratitude.
That small gesture reminded me how often I had seen my father acknowledge people others didn’t notice — the cleaner, the cashier, the guard at the door. To him, dignity wasn’t earned; it was given freely.
When we stood to leave, he held my arm for balance. “You know,” he said, “I used to think the world was getting worse. Then I see that boy — full of color, a little lost maybe, but still listening. That gives me hope.”
We walked slowly through the mall, his new shoes squeaking gently on the floor. People smiled as we passed, and he greeted each one as if they mattered equally.
Outside, the setting sun painted the parking lot gold. He paused, breathing in the evening air. “What lasts,” he murmured, “is how you make people feel.”
Driving home, I realized that the day hadn’t been about shoes at all. It was about a simple truth my father carried effortlessly: styles change, generations shift, but kindness never goes out of style.
