I admire people with talent. And I don’t mean just the traditional talents like singing, dancing, writing, or athletic ability.

I have some talent in a couple of those areas. But my real talent is losing reading glasses. I must have four thousand pair of them scattered throughout my house, and I can’t find any when I need them. I marvel at my skills in that area.

I certainly admire people with culinary skills, of which I have few, and I especially admire talents involving compassion and charity.

These are talents possessed by rare individuals. They’re the type of people who will show up at your door with a four-course dinner when you’ve lost a loved one long before I would even think to send a card.

They’re also usually the people who know exactly what to say during a terrible time of loss. I often don’t.

I was standing in a visitation line at a funeral home recently, and as I approached the family, I suddenly realized I had no idea what to say to them. I knew them, but not intimately.

The memory of a man from my church long ago popped into my head. My grandmother had just passed away, and as he approached me in the greeting line, I heard him repeating the same phrase with each hand he shook: “You have my deepest sympathy”.

Over and over I heard it; “You have my deepest sympathy….you have my deepest sympathy….you have my deepest sympathy…” It may not have been original, but it got him through the moment. I decided I didn’t want to do that.

Instead, I gave most of them a hug, and simply told them how sorry I was for their loss. Sometimes, that’s all you should really do.

A few of the bereaved family members actually made the opening overture to me. “Thank you so much for coming”, one of them said. Even that makes me nervous. I’m always afraid I’ll follow up with something stupid like “Well, it’s nice to be here.”

I admire people with organizational skills. I couldn’t organize a good burp. I’m a creative person, but not much of a detail person. Your surprise birthday party is better left in the hands of someone else.

We’re losing a good organizer in our company. Her name is Kelly. Kelly is the person you would call if you wanted something done right. I can’t begin to count the many times she mopped up my mistakes with a simple “That’s OK, it’s an easy fix.” Kelly not only corrected my blunders, but did so without making me feel like a total idiot.

She’s a lot like Della Street on the old Perry Mason TV show. Perry’s name was on the door, but Della ran that office. When Perry and Paul Drake couldn’t find their fanny with both hands, it was Della to the rescue.

The show never mentioned what Perry paid Della, but I hope it was a lot. She was worth her weight in gold. So is Kelly.

I also admire the talents of people who can fix things. Especially things I break.

I have an old push mower that I need to have fixed so I can abuse it some more. I took my last one to a guy with a long white beard who made it run like new. That’s all the man did morning, noon, and night. He healed sickly lawn mowers.

It lasted me three or four more years before it finally choked to death on some kudzu. But that was his talent. We need more people like him.

So the next time you hear that someone is talented, don’t automatically assume they sing, dance, or play a sport.

They may actually have real talent.