Motivation Mojo > Sal’s Special Moment

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I had just finished a motivational presentation to a large pharmaceutical company. And there I was, decompressing with a glass of fine red wine, reviewing the dinner menu while watching an NBA game above the bar at Scott’s Seafood Grill & Bar in Costa Mesa, California. Suddenly, I heard my name called from behind. I turned to see a large, dark-haired man extending his hand, introducing himself, and thanking me for the inspiring speech all in one breath. His name was Sal. We briefly chatted, and just before he turned to rejoin his party in a reserved room, he handed me a folded note and asked me to read it before I left California…but not right now! I said sure, and he hugged me goodbye. Now I’m a hugger, but this was a bear hug!

I stuffed the note into my pocket, returned to the game and the menu, and struck up conversations with the bartender and my neighbors on either side. Following a delicious seafood dinner, I walked back to the hotel that was located about a block away. When I reached into my pocket for the room key card, the note slipped out with it. I had completely forgotten about it.

I flipped on the desk light and unfolded the cash register receipt paper. I closed my dropped jaw and read it again: Will you call my father Dr. Taratino and tell him that I love him? I have never in 44 years of my life been able to say this to him. He has less than one month to live since he is dying of lung cancer. Thanks Mr. Croce. Your friend Sal Taratino, and there was a phone number listed.

I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that this friendly guy I had met just an hour ago - the guy who hugged me - had never said “I love you” to his father. And that he wanted me, a total stranger, to be the first person to resolve this life-long omission. What do you do? I picked up my cell phone and called the number at the bottom of the note.

A lady answered and I asked to speak to Dr. Taratino.

After a brief wait, a man said in a raspy voice, “Hello.”

I introduced myself, and informed Dr. Taratino that I had recently met his son, Sal, after speaking at his business conference. I told the man that his son had given me a note with a message to relay to him. “He wants you to know that he loves you.”

There was a moment of silence; then he asked, “Who are you?”

I repeated my story. He then said, “My son calls me everyday. Don’t you think it more appropriate that he tells me?” “Yes, I do” I replied, “and I think he will, the next time you two talk.” I said goodbye and wished him God’s blessings with his illness.

I hung up my cell phone, glanced back at the note, and looked to the sky (shrug). Then I made my way back down the street to the restaurant. I walked into the private dining room where Sal’s peers were enjoying their camaraderie. As soon as I walked through the double doors, the crowd recognized me and broke out into applause and hooting and hollering…I have that effect on people.

I saw Sal through the crowd and motioned for him to come over. We negotiated our way out through a gauntlet of pumped-up, alcohol-friendly people! I finally maneuvered Sal into the restaurant’s foyer, where I told him that I had called his dad.

He looked stunned. “You did?”

“That’s what your note asked me to do, right?”

He shook his head yes, but he still didn’t believe it. I described the phone call, and then said, “Sal, now it’s your turn.” I retrieved my cell phone and hit the send button. I briefly listened for the ringing then handed the phone to him. You would have thought I handed him a live grenade!

Standing just a few feet in front of him, I could overhear Sal greet his mother and begin to chitchat. But I motioned for him to move on with a revolving-hand gesture, and he finally asked to speak to his father. Following more banter with his dad about me and my phone call, I again motioned for Sal to keep it rolling. I felt that he was stalling and I wasn’t going to allow him to waste this opportunity. And then I heard him say it: “Dad, I love you.” I moved away from this special moment, but could see Sal choking back the tears. He finished his call with a promise to call back tomorrow.

I smiled at this amazing first as he handed me my cell phone. Sal looked me straight in the eyes, crying and solemnly said, “You did it.”

“No,” I replied, “you did it! And now make a habit of it. And we hugged goodbye.

I ask you: what telephone call should you make? -- PC