Saturday morning couldn’t be any more comfortable than starting the day with a Dr. Seuss quote.
We grew up on him and Mr. Rogers, and Winnie the Pooh, and The Muppets. Throw in a clothespin and a baseball card flapping against the spokes of your Schwinn, and life felt complete. No apps, no noise, just motion and imagination.
Back then, I heard my Old Man and his contemporaries compliment damn near everyone they crossed paths with.
He made sure the morning guy at White Hen knew how GD good his coffee was.
He told the CTA employee at our stop that his entrance and platform were the best maintained on the Lake Street/Dan Ryan line.
Father Coogan was the best homilist in the archdiocese.
The baker down the street made the best chocolate éclair in Cook County.
... But the neatest thing my dad did that stuck with me was how he made the women around town feel good. He complimented lipstick, hairstyles, dresses, shoes. Always with taste and always with style. Never creepy and never cheap.
One long weekend when I was in high school, I came up to visit him and something was off. He wasn’t himself.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
He told me he had been reported at work for complimenting a woman. She reported him to the higher-ups. He was reprimanded and forced into an ethics class. He was never the same after that.
Sure, he still complimented the men around town, but he stopped altogether with women. That was the early 1980s. Then in the mid-1990s, his railroad got swallowed by a bigger railroad and he was forced into retirement.
That was when I noticed another change. He went back to complimenting everyone. Wherever Don Shepley went, there was a smile left in his wake.
Today is National Compliment Day. It is also National Beer and Peanut Butter Appreciation Day, two things I love dearly. I might need a PB&J for lunch and a growler from BuckleDown later.
... But more importantly, I’m going to compliment everyone today. The grocery store owner in town. The person passionately filling my growler. The dry cleaner that cleans splattered French fry grease from my shirts...
...And yes, especially the hot moms who cross my path.
The world needs more compliments, and it starts with a Chalkhead.
Blanket up.
Crockpot up and tell someone they are a fanfuckingtastic human being.
