A Colorful Encounter: A Grandfather’s Lesson at the Food Court
Last weekend, I took my 92-year-old father to the mall for new shoes. After nearly an hour of searching, he finally found a pair of soft leather loafers that made him grin. “Feels like walking on clouds,” he said as we headed to the food court for lunch.
We sat near a teenage boy eating alone, his hair spiked and painted in bright streaks of green, orange, and blue. My father noticed but didn’t stare—just watched with quiet curiosity. The boy, feeling the gaze, turned and snapped, “What’s the matter, old man? Never seen color before?”
I braced for a sharp reply. Instead, Dad smiled kindly.
“When I was your age,” he said, “I didn’t have colorful hair. But I tried to make life colorful—with kindness and respect.”
The boy looked stunned. Dad continued softly, “The brightest thing you can show the world isn’t on your head. It’s how you treat people.”
The teen hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah… that makes sense. Thanks.” When he later stood to leave, he told Dad, “Maybe I’ll try to make people smile instead of shock them.”
Dad chuckled. “That’s a good start. Just don’t lose your color—be yourself, but be kind.”
After he left, Dad looked at me. “You see, people think they have to shout to be noticed. But it’s the quiet acts—like a smile—that people remember.”
As we finished our meal, I watched him nod respectfully to a janitor, a mom with her hands full, a passing teen—simple gestures I’d seen him do my whole life. He always said dignity isn’t earned; it’s owed to everyone.
On the way out, he paused at the door, sunlight glinting off his new shoes. “Funny,” he said. “The older I get, the more I realize—hair color, money, all of it fades. What lasts is how you made people feel.”
That day, I understood his wisdom better than ever. In a world obsessed with being seen, my father’s quiet kindness still shone brightest—no bright hair dye required.