The Origins of the Honest Selling Philosophy

Dad died on May 15. I wrote the following two days later and posted it as a Note on my Facebook page.

There’s a ton of relationship in the words below. There’s also a vein of attitude that is, in reality, the in-my-gut foundation of everything I believe about business … and sales.

In honor of the first Father’s Day I’ve ever spent fatherless, I thought I’d share this again here. My hope is this will both honor the man whose example created Honest Selling, and possibly help you understand why I believe so strongly that relationships are the cornerstone to business — and sales — success.

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Dad,

You taught me to be competitive without being an ass.

You taught me to win graciously and to lose with pride.

You taught me to laugh AT myself but WITH others.

You taught me to lead quietly but follow out loud. (Yeah, I know. The quietly part needs work.)

You taught me to own my mistakes openly and to apologize without excuses.

You taught me to stand up for those who have trouble standing up for themselves.

You taught me to give without keeping score and to accept without an agenda.

You taught me to trust without reservation while keeping my eyes wide open.

You taught me to revel in failure so that I could realize my dreams.

You taught me to listen to everyone while still thinking for myself.

You taught me to share … even when I REALLY didn’t want to.

You taught me to be honest to a fault.

You taught me to never break my word.

You taught me to stick to my principles no matter the price.

You taught me that arrogance is wonderful when based in knowledge and brain-dead stupid if founded in ignorance.

You taught me how to be tenacious, but when to recognize the time to quit.

You taught me that while winning a deal might sustain me for a moment, winning a relationship would sustain me forever.

But of the many life lessons you shared with me, Dad, I believe the one for which I am most grateful is the lesson of how to love a woman completely. Thank you and Mom both for sharing the very best parts of your relationship openly, and for hiding the troubles you had as best you could. Without your shining example of what was possible between two people, I would never have seen my future as I stood dumbfounded, gazing at “the blonde named Cindy” oh so many years ago.

The best part of who I am is because of you (and Mom, of course).

I will NOT miss you for a single minute, because I carry you with me every second.

Goodbye you loving, bullheaded, crotchety, giving, demanding, wonderful SOB.

Comments

[Greg Zander]

Thanks for sharing this with the world, Gill. Not only have you learned so much from your father, but you are doing the same thing he did: passing it on to others. I am thankful that I get to learn from you some of those very lessons that you were taught.

[Brad Simpson]

Well said, Gill. When the time comes, I hope I can compose a eulogy half as good as yours, for my Wonderful SOB. Though belated, my thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family.

Words escape me at times like this. Difficult as it is, the best I can muster is this quote from Dr. Seuss:

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."

Condolences,

Brad Simpson