When I was about 12 years old, I worked for several farmers in our area, doing everything from loading watermelons and cantaloupes to hoeing soybeans and hauling hay. 

Occasionally, I also picked strawberries and tomatoes. It was hard work, but I loved it. It helped me grow in many ways and taught me invaluable lessons about responsibility and perseverance.

The farmers I worked for had strong opinions on work ethics and ethics in general. One of them, let’s call him John, was notoriously tight with money, but he always made sure I got paid. 

He had a business partner, whom we’ll call Buster. We could be paid by either of them, but I always preferred Buster. He was a bit more generous. If he had enjoyed a little liquid encouragement, he could be downright generous!

One hot summer day, John’s son, whom we’ll call Kenneth, and I were loading watermelons onto a peddler’s truck. The peddler had driven down from Missouri to stock up on Arkansas watermelons and had stepped across the street to grab a sandwich while we finished loading his one-ton truck.

As we worked, Kenneth picked up a watermelon, and juice dribbled from a small hole in the rind. The smell that hit us was unmistakably sour. “Daddy, this one’s got a hole in it,” Kenneth said, holding it up for inspection. 

Without missing a beat, John shot back, “Shut up, Kenneth. We’re selling, not buying. Put some dirt in that hole and load the watermelon.” 

Even at 12, I knew something wasn’t quite right about that. At the time, it was funny, and to this day, I still chuckle at how matter-of-fact John was about the whole thing.

But later, I found myself thinking about it more deeply. When I asked my dad about it, he didn’t give me a direct answer. Instead, he said, ‘We all have choices to make. You need to figure out what the right choice was in that situation.”

I chewed on that for a while before I went back to him and said, “John should have culled that watermelon.”