The Shirts Were Insured

"Wisdom is knowing the difference between what is worth fighting for and what is worth walking away from."

Just the other day I was shopping in the Clearfork area of Fort Worth, one of those beautiful places filled with upscale boutiques, restaurants, and stores where it''s easy to spend more than you intended. I wandered into a men''s clothing store looking for a blazer and met a young sales associate named Angelica. She had only been on the job a couple of days, but you would never have guessed it from her attitude. She greeted me with a smile, listened carefully, and genuinely wanted to help me find the right jacket.

As she worked with me, I saw a younger version of myself.

Many years ago, while living in Virginia with my sister Becky, I worked in a clothing store called Davy Jones Locker. It was one of those trendy places where the music was always loud, the clothes were colorful, and the salespeople were expected to have just as much personality as the merchandise. We worked on commission, so selling wasn''t just about helping customers — it was about helping them complete the outfit.

If a customer bought a shirt, you suggested slacks. If they bought slacks, you recommended a belt. If they picked out a blazer, you showed them a pocket square or a tie. Every sale was an opportunity to serve the customer a little better and earn a little more money.

Watching Angelica, I could tell she hadn''t learned all of those little techniques yet. Experience teaches those things. Besides, she still sold me a beautiful blazer that cost nearly five hundred dollars, so I figured she was doing just fine. Sometimes attitude will carry you farther than technique ever will.

Then another memory from those days came rushing back.

One afternoon three young men walked into our store. They grabbed an armful of shirts, mostly medium sizes, tucked them underneath their coats, and headed for the door. Since it was the middle of summer, those heavy coats weren''t fooling anybody.

Our manager looked up, immediately realized what was happening, and yelled, "Let''s go get them!"

Before I had time to think, he took off after one of them.

I took off after another.

The third disappeared into the crowd.

We were running full speed through the mall, weaving around shoppers who had no idea what was happening. People were jumping out of the way as two Black men came sprinting through the corridor. Some looked frightened. Some looked confused. Others just froze. We burst into one of the department stores, and by then my heart was pounding almost as fast as my feet.

Finally, the young man I was chasing stopped.

He turned around, faced me, and calmly asked, "Okay…now what are you going to do about it?"

Everything became crystal clear.

I didn''t know this man. I didn''t know if he had a knife. I didn''t know if he had a gun. I didn''t know how desperate he might be or what he might do next.

What I did know was that I sold shirts for a living.

I wasn''t law enforcement. I wasn''t security. I was a salesman earning a commission.

At that moment I had two voices talking inside my head.

My manager''s voice was saying, "Go save the store''s merchandise."

My street sense was saying, "This ain''t your stuff. Don''t be no fool."

I listened to my street sense.

I simply looked at him and said, "Man, I just work there. My boss told me to chase you."

He looked at me for a second.

I looked back.

Then he turned around and walked away.

So did I.

I''ve thought about that day many times over the years. My manager wasn''t a bad man. From his perspective, he was protecting the business. Maybe his life experiences taught him that was exactly what a manager was supposed to do. I respect that.

But my life experiences had taught me something different.

No commission check was worth my life. No shirt was worth a knife. No blazer was worth getting shot in somebody else''s fight.

As I''ve gotten older, I''ve learned that maturity isn''t just knowing how to solve problems. It''s knowing which problems belong to you. Every battle isn''t your battle. Every hill isn''t worth dying on.

Life has taught me that courage and wisdom aren''t always the same thing.

Sometimes courage means stepping forward. Sometimes wisdom means stepping back. The challenge is learning the difference.

I believe I made the right decision that day.

Because the shirts were insured.

I wasn''t.