You know what? A lot of times they smiled back.
“The truth is, I don't have to be in that much of a hurry with my car. I would rather put my energies into people.”
He did this better than anyone I'd ever known. Those who sat with him saw his eyes go moist when they spoke about something horrible,
or crinkle in delight when they told him a really bad joke.
He was always ready to openly display the emotion so often missing from my baby boomer generation.
We are great at small talk: “What do you do?” “Where do you live?”
But really listening to someone—without trying to sell them something, pick them up,
recruit them, or get some kind of status in return—how often do we get this anymore?
I believe many visitors in the last few months of Morrie's life were drawn not because of the attention they wanted to pay to him
but because of the attention he paid to them.
Despite his personal pain and decay, this little old man listened the way they always wanted someone to listen.
I told him he was the father everyone wishes they had. “Well,” he said, closing his eyes, “I have some experience in that area...”
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