“To speak to me privately.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I had counsel return the call and direct all communication through appropriate channels.”
I smiled.
“He must have hated that.”
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“I did not ask.”
That was my father.
For years, I had hidden his identity because I wanted to know whether people respected me without borrowing his authority.
David eventually answered that question more clearly than I ever wanted.
He had not respected me.
But something unexpected happened after everything became public within the circles that needed to know.
People began treating me differently because of Dad.
Hospital administrators.
Attorneys.
Even acquaintances.
More careful.
More attentive.
That bothered me.
One afternoon, a lawyer apologized for keeping me waiting six minutes.
I laughed.
“Would you apologize this much if my father sold insurance?”
He turned red.
That was when I understood another part of Dad’s old advice.
