I love my godfather, my Uncle Walt. He is my mom’s brother and has always been a part of my life. I remember visiting his firehouse when I was a little girl and being taught to stand back against the wall if the alarm ever went off while we were there. When I went over to play with my cousins, I remember thinking that he had the coolest house because when you walked in the front door, you either had to go up the stairs or down the stairs (at 7 or 8 or 9 years old, I had no concept of what a split-level was!). I remember the heat of his blacksmithing shop, the grime and grittiness and work of it, the awe and wonder I felt looking at all the strange pieces of equipment.
He's an amazing human, and he has lived a fascinating life. He was a marine and is dedicated to veteran’s rights. He has raced at the Bonneville Salt Flats. He taught at the Rhode Island School of Design for 20 years. He writes and directs fictional plays based on true historical events. During the pandemic, we set a weekly call, and every Friday afternoon, I get to listen to his incredible storytelling. Eventually, I would like to write a book about him, so sometimes I take notes, and other times, I am enthralled with his tales, and I simply listen.
My uncle had open heart surgery a few months ago to repair a leaky heart valve, and this is the third time he has had his chest cracked open. In our weekly calls after the procedure and over the following weeks, I noticed that he was often reflective. He describes himself as stubborn and opinionated, and as he approaches his 80th year on this Earth, he also says he is beginning to mature. He has shared with me that lying in a hospital bed after having an operation to repair your failing heart gives a person a lot of time to think. During his hospital stay, he looked back on certain events in his life and wondered what he would have done differently had he known then what he knows now.
On our Friday call a few weeks ago, Uncle Walt told me that he ran into a former colleague from his firehouse. Back in the day, the man worked in a training capacity, responsible for teaching the firefighters about equipment and procedures, and as he tells it, my godfather had zero respect for this young Trainer. In fact, my uncle went out of his way to make the Trainer’s life miserable. Uncle Walt purposefully gave him a hard time and regularly dismissed the Trainer’s instructions. After my uncle retired from the fire department, the other man went on to become Captain and worked in the firehouse for several more years.
My uncle and the former Captain recently attended the same event at the local Elks Lodge. Having new perspective after his surgery, Uncle Walt approached the man (who looked slightly wary), and after exchanging pleasantries, said, “Look, I know I gave you a really hard time back then. I thought I knew more than you, I was disrespectful, and I’m sorry.”
The Captain was shocked. It took him a moment to recover, and he replied, “Walter, you were a motherf****r. I can’t tell you the number of days that I wanted to pay someone to run you over with the fire truck. I also knew that when the bell went off, you were the first guy I wanted on my team. I trusted you to be the guy at the front, running toward the burning building with the hose.”
Imagine telling someone “I’m sorry” 40 years after the apology was due. Imagine carrying the weight and memories of your actions for that long, and randomly having the opportunity to set things right. Imagine having the strength to admit that you were wrong so many years later.
Now imagine telling someone “I’m sorry,” at the time you realize that you mistreated them. Imagine forgiving yourself for your actions. Imagine having the strength, in the moment, to set things right.
Admitting you were wrong or that you made a mistake is humbling and uncomfortable. Actually saying the words “I’m sorry” is powerful and freeing. My godfather waited 40 years to say “I’m sorry” to his former colleague, and he has confessed that there are many others to whom he owes amends that he will never be able to give. He says that he’s finally learned to be quicker in making an apology, though also admits that it doesn’t get any easier. Still, better late than never.
I don’t know that my godfather considers himself a leader. I do know that he inspires and influences so many people, creates a positive impact on his community, and gives sincere effort to make this world a better place. He is a teacher, and he is willing to learn. He is humble, resilient, and honest. Sounds like a leader to me.
I have some reflection to do and a phone call to make. I need to tell someone that I am sorry.
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