Before the sun rose to spread mid-July warmth over the two-story farmhouse set on an 80-acre plot somewhere in middle Wisconsin, the seven-year-old occupant of a small second-floor bedroom was already awake.

The skinny kid, Kenny with tousled dark hair, a farmer’s tan, and eager eyes, had nearly jumped into knee torn jeans, a T-shirt and knock-around sneakers. There was little time to waste. Mother had not even started breakfast when he scurried down two flights of stairs, streaked past the kitchen, and bound out the screen door headed toward the milk house at a full sprint.

Kenny hadn’t seen his Uncle Mick in over a year. Uncle Mick was in the Army. Stationed in a place called Vietnam.  The kid didn’t even know where Vietnam was. He didn’t care, either. All he cared about was his uncle was coming home for good. He was coming back today. Kenny had chores to do. Tasks he needed to have done before Uncle Mick returned if Kenny was going to be able to meet Mick at the gate where the bus would drop him off.  In the milk house, it was rinse and clean the lye from the milking inflations and sweep the floor.

Then there was the dash to the henhouse. While running, Kenny kept an ear toward the highway that snaked its way across the county and past the small farm. The sun was up now, but he knew it was still too early for the bus. Kenny listened for it anyhow. In the henhouse, it was feeding first. It made the egg collecting easier if the hens were busy eating, especially when taking eggs from that old red banty hen in the corner. She liked to peck at his hand when he reached for the egg.

And so, the day went on. Kenny was listening at every opportunity for the sound of the Gray Hound Bus diesel engine pushing the bus up to the gate.

Morning turned to afternoon. The afternoon turned into evening. At the dinner table, Kenny sat in silence. His eyes had lost that morning eagerness and had become filled instead with disappointment. Both Kenny’s mother and father knew Kenny was in a twist of disappointment, so when he asked permission to be excused from the table, permission was granted.

The phone on the wall rang. Kenny’s father tossed his napkin in his plate, mumbled something about inconsiderate people interrupting the dinner hour and rose to answer the phone.

“Kenneth! It’s for you.”

Kenny turned to see his father holding the handset out to him. Wearing a quizzical expression, Kenny approached his father, took the handset and held it to his ear.

“This is Kenny. To whom am I speaking please?”

“It’s me, Kenny. Uncle Mick.”

“Cappy!”

Kenny caught the movement of his mother, turning and sending an angry stare at him from her place at the table and made a quick correction.

“I mean, Uncle Mick.”

“Is my sister giving you the evil eye again?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kenny admitted into the phone. Both he and Mick had a chuckle over that.

–

In the conversation, Mick told his nephew that there was a typical Army SNAFU with his travel arrangements. Mick told Kenny he was sorry for the delay, and that he would take the next bus out of the airport.

Kenny didn’t know just what a SNAFU was. He was just glad to know Uncle Mick hadn’t forgotten that he was waiting for him.

Hanging up the phone, Kenny combed the fingers of one hand through that tousled mop of dark hair atop his head and managed a small smile.

Kenny’s father broke the silence of the moment with, “Your dinner is still warm if you’d like to take another try at eating, son.”

Kenny reclaimed his seat at the table and finished his dinner.

–

In life and business, disappointments happen.

When they do, it affects the people around us too.

It’s essential to let disappointed people know what happened.

It’s noon, and the part is not here yet. Stay Calm. Call your customer early. Give them as much lead time as you can.

It’s more important to be willing to forgive a disappointment than to harbor resentment over it.