Being the wonderful daughter that I am, I offered to pick up a package for my father at the local post office yesterday. Package in one hand and a feisty 8 year old (who had no intention of making his way home to do his homework!) in the other, my promise of a speedy delivery was delayed slightly when I had to stop and wipe the imprint of my face off of the door of the post office.
You see, I mistook the seemingly fancy-dressed and well-schooled fellow who pushed through the door in front of me as a man who knew better. A man who understood that no matter who was following behind him out the same exit, you held the door open and let them pass through. A man who, realizing he had done wrong, would have glanced back when he heard forehead hit glass or box hit ground. There was none of that from this fellow which I'll admit, made me a little sad.
Sad that I had been fooled by appearances but even sadder to think that even the simplest of courtesies had been lost.
Until the little boy standing beside me (you know the one who pulled at his mother's arm with all his might in one direction while she was trying to go another) made me smile once again with a few words ("that man wasn't very nice, was he momma? I know how to be a gentleman!") and his own kind gesture of pushing the door open, which weighed about as much as he did, stepping through and pulling it back so I could walk out.
(And yes, he did win a little extra time away from his dreaded homework, enjoying a cool treat at the ice cream shoppe before going home.
One good turn rightfully deserves another, doesn't it?)