ABOUT THE AUTHOR Kerry Patterson is coauthor of four New York Times bestsellers, Change Anything, Crucial Conversations, Crucial Confrontations, and Influencer. READ MORE Listen to Kerrying On via MP3 To pay homage to the tens of millions of people out there who labor long and hard for all of us (often with little pay and virtually no recognition), today I honor my grandfather, The Merchant of Bellingham. During WWII, my father worked for Boeing as the team leader of a group of craftsmen. They produced the mechanism that makes it possible to lower bomber landing gear by hand (should something go wrong with the automated equipment). When the war came to an end and there was no longer a need for life-saving bomber equipment, Dad was out of work. That is, until he stumbled on the idea of owning and operating a small grocery store—the kind you could find just about every six blocks in the mid-forties. As it turned out, Dad wasn’t cut out for such employment (he ended up in apartment management), so Grandpa took charge of the store. He moved in, we moved out, and over the next twenty years, my grandfather (a fiery five-foot-two Irishman with a cigar stub perennially stuck in the corner of his mouth) became "pop" to everyone who stopped by the store to pick up a quart of milk and chat about the weather. One day when I asked Grandpa what he called himself (I knew what he did, I just didn’t know what to call it), he told me he was a "merchant." I haven’t heard anyone use that term since then, but when Grandpa claimed the title, it was clear that a merchant was something special. He always dressed in wool suit pants, a white shirt and tie, and a crisp green apron. And whether he was candling eggs, putting away redeemable bottles, or standing patiently as a child picked out five cents worth of penny candy, Grandpa attacked the task with the pride and precision of a physician performing surgery. After all, he was a merchant. I remember watching Grandpa patiently wait on people of every ilk and disposition. Since his store was located in a rather poor neighborhood, there was no telling who would walk in the front door or what they might require. Several individuals who were learning disabled frequently found their way to his establishment. They’d shyly point at the items they wanted, reach into their pocket, and pull out a handful of crumpled bills and loose coins. Then, without making a big deal of it, Grandpa would pick out the right amount of money, bag the groceries, and send the customer on his or her way with a hearty "thank you." One time, a couple of teenage boys who were in the store ridiculed an adult customer who had been unable to count his money, and later that day when the boys returned for a soda pop, Grandpa counseled them on showing respect for all people. Grandpa had spent the first forty years of his career as a bit of a celebrity in the lumber business. He was such a whiz with numbers that he could walk through an entire lumber mill and keep track of the board footage in his head. He had earned a great deal of respect performing these calculations, so you might suspect that in his senior years, he’d find the task of waiting on people to be beneath him. But he didn’t. Grandpa often told me it was an honor, even noble, to help others meet their needs. After all, he was a merchant. People counted on Grandpa and Grandpa knew it. After my first year of college, I prepared to travel abroad for two years. One Sunday afternoon, and at the very last minute, I asked Grandpa to attend my going-away speech at church. He replied with a look of utter shock, "I can’t close the store!" (He kept it open thirteen hours a day, seven days a week.) "What if Mrs. Eherenfieldt needs some cheese for her casserole? Or what if Ronnie Kepler falls and skins his knee? Where will Mrs. Kepler get a Band-Aid?" My father had made precision landing gear that saved whole bomber crews. Grandpa provided cheese and Band-Aids and saw himself as equally important. And he was. Along with the cheese and Band-Aids, Grandpa doled out friendly banter and helpful advice. I remember watching him celebrate with a young man who had just been admitted to a prestigious college. Granddad had watched him grow up. A penny-candy kid who excelled in math and who Grandpa saw as one of his protégés. Grandpa had taught him math tricks and study techniques. It was all part of the services rendered at Noonan’s Grocery. Sometimes, people came to the store, glanced around nervously, and then timidly whispered in Grandpa’s ear. Years later, I learned that they asked for credit. They needed food for their tables and Grandpa would be the one who supplied it. Over the years, I heard some criticize Grandpa for extending credit to people whom nobody else would ever float a loan. Most paid him back, but a lot never came up with the money so at the end of the day, Grandpa didn’t make much of a profit. When I asked him about the practice of making bad loans, he smiled knowingly and explained that his mission covered more than simply making money. One day, as I stopped by the store to pick up a loaf of bread, two rather somber looking gentlemen in dark suits were exiting the place. "Those fellows were FBI agents," Grandpa explained. "They come by every once in a while when one of the locals applies for a Federal job that calls for a background investigation. They talk to me about the candidate. You know, did he steal stuff as a kid? Things like that." Grandpa loved being a merchant who sat in the social and commercial center of the neighborhood. Partly because of the nature of the job and partly because he simply loved to work. In 1966, when my folks moved to Arizona, they invited Grandpa to come live with them in the land of sunshine and oranges. Grandpa wrote back that he’d enjoy the change in weather, but that he’d be staying in Bellingham. After all, (and I quote from his letter) "you know how hard it is for a man my age to find a job." Grandpa was eighty-six at the time and hadn’t realized that Mom was asking him to retire. The thought had never entered his head. Two years later, while fetching a cold bottle of soda pop for Tim Harmon (a young man with learning disabilities who had grown up hanging out at the store), Grandpa had a stroke and fell to the floor. Tim, not knowing how to operate a phone to call for medical help, ran out the front door and tried his best to flag down a passing car until someone pulled over to lend a hand. Tim gently cradled Grandpa in his arms until an ambulance eventually arrived. "Pop" had fallen and Tim, loving him like his own grandfather, gently comforted the man who had served so many for so long. "Call the bread man and ask him to remove the stock from the shelves. It’ll go bad," Grandpa managed to utter as the ambulance pulled off. "We can’t be selling stale bread. Mrs. Eherenfieldt will never be satisfied with stale bread." And such were the last words of the Merchant of Bellingham. Related Material:Kerrying On: Just a Child Kerrying On: My Favorite Gift Kerrying On: Tombstone Talk

Matt Stevenson is now a member of Innovation Insights

Matt Stevenson commented on Mike Barton's blog post The Insights Community Is Taking a Break

To help more of our readers with their crucial conversations, confrontations, and behavior change challenges, we recently introduced the Community Q&A column! Please share your answers to this reader’s question in the comments below. Dear Crucial Skills, I have a three-year-old daughter, and I am concerned about the frequency with which I lose patience and "talk down" to her. My own father was very judgmental and intolerant of mistakes and inefficiencies. My daughter is three, and she is the epitome of inefficient! As much as I try not to, I sound like my dad way too much. I hear the disapproving tone in my voice and know I shouldn’t use it, but I get so annoyed with her at times. I don’t want to raise her to be afraid to make mistakes and I want her to have positive self-esteem. How do I stop myself from repeating the patterns I was raised with? Frayed Patience

Chris Messer, Mike Sharkey, Gabe Grifoni and 12 more joined Innovation Insights

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Joseph Grenny is coauthor of four New York Times bestsellers, Change Anything, Crucial Conversations, Crucial Confrontations, and Influencer. READ MORE Dear Crucial Skills, Some time ago, I rejected a perfectly good job offer. I now realize that I made the biggest mistake of my life. The line manager actually personally called me after the interview process to reassure me that he was very eager for me to join his team. Is it a good idea to call him back to inquire about possible opportunities? Provided I am granted a face-to-face meeting, how do I ask to join his team after I rejected a previous offer? Overcoming My Biggest Mistake  Dear Overcoming, By all means, make the call! Now! You have nothing to lose. It’s possible that the hiring manager will only feel flattered that you reconsidered. Of course, he may have found another candidate already. Or he may have felt hurt if you gave some indication that you would accept and then didn’t. Or if you just went silent and never actually shared your decision to decline, he may feel insulted or have a negative view of your emotional maturity. Here are two possible scenarios as well as tips for handing each conversation. Scenario 1: You clearly and respectfully declined the offer. You need to do three things in your conversation: Reaffirm your original feelings about the offer. Help him make sense of your change of heart. Make it easy for him to let you know the position was filled. This might sound like, "I know it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve spoken, and I fully understand that you may have extended another offer for the position. If it is still open, I want you to know I have changed my mind about staying where I am. I realize now that I let a fear of the unknown keep me back from something that would be truly exciting to me. This job would give me a chance to use the full range of skills I’ve been trained for. I’m ready to jump in if the job is available. And if it’s not, I want you to know I would like to talk about other options in the future." Scenario 2: You didn’t handle it well. If you expressed enthusiasm then changed your mind, or if you waited too long to let him know you wouldn’t be coming, or if you offended him in some other way, start there. For example, you might say, "I want you to know I’ve changed my mind about your offer, and I’d like to explain why. But I also want you to know I’ve been feeling some guilt over how I may have offended or inconvenienced you when we discussed the position earlier. I was embarrassed to let you know I had changed my mind so I waited two days to call you. In retrospect, I think I may have caused you to waste time in filling the position. I am sorry if that is the case . . ." Let him respond by either acknowledging that this was an issue or bringing up any other concerns you might have created. Give him permission to factor these concerns into his decision about reconsidering you. Then move on to explain why you’ve changed your mind. I wish you the best in this decision. I know making such a leap can be scary. I hope it works out well for you and the organization you’ll join. Warmly,Joseph Related posts: Changing Behavior After Training

Curtis Brandie commented on Derrick Morton's blog post Why Couples Are Finding Real Love in Virtual Worlds

Since the news broke that some employers now ask job applicants for their social media passwords, most coverage has focused on the perceived invasion of applicants' privacy. But this practice isn't just creepy -- and illegal in some states, such as Maryland and Illinois; it’s also a bad business move. [...]

Across the U.S., employees are haunted by something scary and destructive—and it’s not ghosts and goblins. According to our research, more than 70 percent of people run in fear from a scary conversation with their boss, coworker, or direct report. Respondents shared examples of the four scariest conversations at work: Bad behavior: "I had to tell my manager that my supervisor was a terrible leader and doing long‐term damage to the company." Obnoxious behavior: "My coworker was meddling in my life and criticizing my children. She actually said my daughter looked like a hooker." Illegal activity: "An executive accused me of changing a document after he had signed it." Performance reviews: "I had to explain to my direct report that his intentions/actions were not being well received by staff, and that it would hurt his credibility to continue on that path." But these conversations don’t have to be scary. Follow these tips for approaching and conquering scary conversations about bad behavior: Talk face‐to‐face and in private. Don’t chicken out by reverting to e‐mail or phone. Assume the best of others. Perhaps the other person is unaware of the effects of his or her actions. Enter the conversation as a curious friend rather than an angry co‐worker. Use tentative language. Describe the problem by saying, "I’m not sure you’re intending this . . ." or "I’m not even sure you’re aware. . ." Share facts not conclusions. Not only are conclusions possibly wrong, they also create defensiveness. Say, "In the last two meetings you laughed at my suggestion. I expect people to disagree, but . . ." Invite dialogue. Next, ask if he or she sees the problem differently. If you are open to hearing others’ points of view, they’ll be more open to yours. Related posts: Crucial Applications: Holiday Office Party 101 Crucial Applications: What’s New in Crucial Conversations 4? Crucial Applications: How to Talk Politics with Friends—and Still Have Some Left

Workplace culture evolves with each generation, and today’s hires have demands and needs quite different from what their hiring managers are used to. And of course, the batch of future employees who have yet to master the alphabet will bring still another set of cultural attitudes to the workplace when [...]