My dad always told us he worked as a mid-level manager at a parts distributor. Same shirt every morning, same lunchbox, same stories about his “back pain.” It was predictable, ordinary, believable.
But when he passed, a man in uniform showed up at the funeral. That’s when the truth came out: my dad wasn’t a manager at all. He was a maintenance worker — the person who quietly kept an entire facility running. The man said, “Your dad saved our day more times than I can count. He never wanted credit, but he earned it all.”Continue reading…
