"A GOOD REPUTATION is the most important asset you can ever acquire," my father told me more than once, or twice, or even three times. "So, what's so great about what people think?" I would ask. As a teenager, I thought I didn't care one whit what my neighbors thought. My father would respond with a dissertation on how my reputation would affect the whole family, and maybe most importantly, my younger sister. I guess because I was a teenager, and I knew everything, I couldn't get interested in what the busybodies concluded was my reputation. Actually, a person's reputation, I decided, was a mixture of what his friends, enemies, and relatives said behind his back. If it was said behind my back, I thought I didn't care.

How many years it took for me to actually realize that my father was really a brilliant person I don't remember. I know it took some maturing. My poor parents; I was so headstrong. Of course, growing up in a small rural community puts one on display at all times; everybody knows all of your business; and it is their business to pass along to others anything that is even imagined, surmised, or conjured. I hadn't had any really bad things in mind that I wanted to do. In those years of my life which coincided with the early thirties, girls were expected to embroider tea towels, make things for their hope chest, and be a "lady" at all times. I was a bit of a tomboy, loved to drive my father's car, and liked to meet my friends at somebody's house to eat popcorn and play stupid games.

My adult years have made me realize how great a good name, an honorable reputation, and old friends can be. I can't imagine going home to my little home town, and not being greeted by many welcoming handshakes. I can't imagine how it would be if I had not finally listened to what my father was telling me. My father's name was honored in the community, and my mother's good reputation as a lady with high principles was well known. I was proud of both of them. It was with this pride still pulsating in my ego that I really came to know just how wonderful it was to have a home town, to have a good reputation, and to have an honest and principled heritage. What an ego trip to go home! For those who I see who don't remember me, it is with great pride to tell them who my father was, or my brother, or my nephews. Family reputation is important always.

It's really strange that my father's words were so clear and so understandable with distinct meaning and clarity when my daughter was a teenager. He really was much smarter than I had originally thought. With my daughter, as with me, it wasn't that we were planning to do anything illegal, immoral, or in any way unacceptable, but it was just the thought of what could happen. By the time my daughter was a teenager, I was a teacher, so my daughter was very much cautious of doing anything that would embarrass me as a teacher in the Omaha School System.

Now, this "reputation" thing has gone full circle with me. Now, I try to not do anything stupid because I don't want to bring the embarrassment to my daughter, my son-in-law or my grandchildren. I care ever so much more what my family now thinks than I ever did what the gossips in my hometown thought back there so long ago when I was a teen.

As a grandmother, I feel that I'm not allowed to "preach" to my grand- children, but I found myself relating to my grandson how neat it was to feel that I could go back to good old Coleridge, Nebraska, to that little town of 600 plus population, and feel that I would be received as a "good" person. If there is someone who doesn't remember me there as a teacher, perhaps they remember me as a Girl Scout leader, or as a cousin of "Bill" who is my age and who still lives there. I do have relatives there yet, and there are my cousin's children and their families.

How great it is to have that feeling, that self-esteem, and that assurance that there will be someone there who really does know me. I wonder how my father became so knowing, such a philosopher, and such a good teacher for someone who was so headstrong as I. My parents turned out to be really brilliant people, but it took a few years for me to be smart enough to realize the fact.

So, one of these days in my octogenarian years, I will again walk the streets of my hometown and again I will be welcomed, and again I will feel gratitude to my father and mother for their patience. Again I will feel proud.

If I could have one wish, it would be to become as smart as I thought I was when I was a teen. My parents were so old fashioned, and I was so disgustingly brilliant. Then I began getting smarter with the years, now I'm old and forgotten it all.