I learned a hard lesson when I was a kid. There was a diesel mechanic named Don, he drove a 1953 Chevy panel truck painted flat black. I remember it well because he had two huge diesel pistons mounted as pushers to the front bumper, and it was filled with tools, dogs, and used 7-11 cups. He had long greasy hair and a bushy black beard. His hands and fingernails were dirty and black with grease.

He was a really good person, a soft spoken man and an excellent heavy equipment mechanic. He would call my dad to come replace windshields and such in heavy equipment. My dad often took my brother and I with him when we were growing up and we were the gophers – “go for” this and “go for” that.

I went with dad to see Mr. Don about putting a windshield in a dozer. My dad was talking with Don and I was taking in Don’s appearance. His coveralls were caked with black grease so much so that they shined like a mirror. I had never seen the man clean. And then out of the blue I popped off and said “you sure are dirty! Don’t you ever change your clothes?”

Right then my dad looked at me with wrath in his eyes and I knew I was in for a tongue lashing, when of a sudden Don kicked off his shoes and unzipped those Dickey coveralls, peeled them off right there revealing his blue boxers, turned them inside out and put them back on with the clean side out, then softly said “there, you like that better?”

I immediately felt embarrassed and ashamed of what I’d said, and wish I had me hole to crawl in!

Dad sent me to the truck as he and Don secretly laughed about the whole thing while I was sweating bullets expecting a whooping or a tongue lashing at minimum. I was surprised when dad simply said “you learn anything?” I said “yeah, that maybe I shouldn’t have said that to Mr. Don?” Dad simply nodded his head yes.

Sometime later we went back to put that glass in that dozer and Mr. Don was there and he winked at me and asked me if he needed to change clothes; to which I said, “no sir, I like you the way you are.” He grinned, tossed me a snickers bar, and said “ok then let’s get to work.”

I felt embarrassed all over again… but relieved that he had good humor. Now I understand why it said in Colossians 4:6

“Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.”

I’ve always been one to say what’s on my mind but I have learned to use a little restraint. I still haven’t mastered it yet but I’m working on it. Something we all need to work on I suspect.