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Looking at the Grandeur of Pride
Driving down to work today, I again saw a familiar, and welcome, sight. The service truck driver was, at 6 a.m., washing his delivery vehicle. In minutes the vehicle would be shiny as new. Though by 9 a.m. the truck would be covered with dust from his deliveries along the county’s many dirt and gravel roads, it would begin this day, and every day, a clean and shiny, positive representative of his company.
The driver was proud of his truck, and his job. Anyone could see that. His job pride reminded me of a trip to The Liberty Bell some years ago. Ranger John gave a positive, passionate presentation on the history of the bell, then asked if there were any questions.
“Were you here when the man attacked the bell with a sledgehammer?” someone in the group asked. Ranger John flinched as if someone had hit him in the stomach. He stared down at the floor for a few moments, trying to gain his composure. When he looked up his eyes were filled with tears.
“I am sorry to say I was present when the great bell was attacked,” he began. Speaking haltingly, he continued, “I had just concluded a presentation to citizens like you and was walking toward the break room. Ranger Mike was about to start his presentation to the next group of citizens when I heard a commotion and saw a man attacking the great bell. Ranger Mike and I subdued the man…I am sorry to tell you all that the great bell was damaged on my watch. I haven’t slept the same since.”
His pride in his work, and the personal devastation he felt over the attack, was contagious. I looked at the floor, too, trying to gain my composure.
It really doesn’t matter what any of us do for a living. Pitch in the major leagues, mow lawns, run a shop, clean houses, or practice law. What matters is the pride we feel in our work, and ourselves. Pride is noticeable and contagious. When I select a jury, a question I often ask prospective jurors is, “What are you proud of in your life?” I don’t care what their answer is. Usually, it relates to military services or family or extended, continuous membership in an organization. What I do care about are the prospective jurors who are stumped by the question, people apparently not proud of anything. Pride gives us dignity, a sense of satisfaction in some aspect of our life we feel we have done well; something that helps us hold our head high and reminds us how special and unique we are. I would never have a person without pride on my jury.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I were looking for something among the boxes in the hall closet. Inside one box was some of my sons' elementary school artwork. What I recall these many years later, is the pride they felt in the creation they brought home to us; the small child holding out their work-product, shyly but proudly saying, “I made it myself, Dad. For you and Mom.” The macaroni glued to construction paper wasn’t Michelangelo, but the kids didn’t know that. Nor did their parents who were inspired by their pride, creativity, and enthusiasm in the project.
Every morning, I check to see if the delivery truck is getting a bath. My day always starts better when it is. I am reminded of the power and grandeur of pride. Whether it’s creating macaroni artwork, guarding a great bell, or washing your company truck.
An earlier version of this story appeared in North Kitsap Herald, July 3, 2004
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