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Norm Green-An Unforgettable Man
By Rita Thomas, York News-Times Publisher
From the Wednesday, October 29, 2003 issue of the York News-TimesIt only took 15 minutes on a Saturday afternoon to gain an unforgettable memory of Norm Green.
Having only been in York five months, I did not know Norm very well. However, I will always remember the day I met him - and with any luck, so will my daughter.
It was a Saturday just prior to my move to York. That morning, my family and I had been patiently escorted from house to house by Michelle Ronne. Later that day we drove back to the real estate office to return something.
When I entered the business, a gentleman stepped out of an office dressed as if he was ready to step on the golf course. He was alone, so I stuck my hand out, introduced myself and proclaimed, "You must be Norm." When he confirmed, I proceeded to tell him why we had returned to the office.
"Mr. Green, I need to ask you to help me with something," I said. He didn't say anything, but looked a little puzzled. I continued. "Earlier today we were looking at houses . . ." I paused, not knowing how my next statement was going to be perceived. ". . . well, it seems we arrived at the hotel with something that didn't belong to us and we've come to return it."
Now Norm was really puzzled. After a little nudging, my 7-year-old sheepishly peeked out from behind me.
"Show Mr. Green what you have," I instructed my daughter. She was reluctant to respond - a little guilt playing on her, I suppose.
"Honey," I said to my daughter, "we discussed this at the hotel and in the car on the way over. You know what you need to do."
With her head down, my daughter placed her fist out in front of her. She slowly turned it upward and opened her fingers to reveal a tattered eraser, about half gone, with pen marks all over it.
The puzzled look on Norm's face was replaced with one of parental understanding. I was relieved to know he knew exactly why I had to make a "big deal" out of such a small thing. Principle. Integrity. Honesty. Responsibility - as much hers for the action, and mine for the teaching. It was my responsibility to seize that teachable moment and make it a lesson my child would never forget.
My daughter began to cry and tell me she "couldn't do it." I reached down to hold her hand. I told her I knew it was difficult to admit she had taken something that didn't belong to her, but she knew it was wrong and she needed to apologize. She continued to back away and tell me she couldn't do it. She begged me, "You tell him, Momma."
I pressed on, determined not to let her off easy.
"Honey," I said, "I didn't take the eraser. That was your choice. Now you have to take responsibility for what you did."
I drew on everything I knew including Bible studies on parenting and how God walks beside us when we somehow make a mess of things. I continued, "I will be right here beside you. I'll hold your hand the whole time, but I can't do this for you." I coaxed her, hugged her, and cried with her in Norm's office for what seemed like an eternity. Finally my daughter managed a very meek, but humble, "I'm sorry."
Despite a pending golf game and three phone calls he took in the midst of the dramatics, Norm stood patiently and played along. At one point, he even reached his hand out and told my daughter that he wasn't mad at her, but she needed to do the right thing and return the eraser so it could be given back to the rightful owner.
I knew I had to teach this lesson and I am grateful Norm allowed me to do so at the expense of his time. It was one my father taught me at a similar age, only I had taken a very small grocery sack from the checkout counter at a grocery store. "Baby sacks," I called them. Dad caught me as I placed it under my coat so I could "see what it looked like in the dark."
That was a powerful lesson for me - one I've obviously never forgotten.
Out of love, I wanted that lesson for my daughter and risked the opinion of a man I had just met, knowing I would do business with him once I arrived in York. I worried that Norm might think I was an awful parent "torturing" my child by making her stand in front of a perfect stranger and apologize for taking something that didn't belong to her. Even so, I knew the lesson was worth the risk.
True to his earlier expression of understanding, Norm commented that too many parents these days would have shrugged off the incident because it was only an eraser. I thought, "Yep, an eraser today, a car tomorrow."
On a Saturday afternoon, I learned more about Norm Green as a person than I could have possibly learned in the few professional interactions we've had in the last five months.
In a way, Norm became a permanent part of our family that day. The "eraser story" will be one our family will share over and over when we recall lessons learned and lessons taught - just like the "baby sack" story.
Norm, may your rest be sweet and peaceful. You will not be forgotten.