Making allowances for the unknown suffering of others key to good will
The Old Man held the door open for folks walking up behind him. He said, “Yes ma’am,” and “No sir,” to folks no matter what their age. He was firm but polite to people determined to be rude. He was kind to people who didn’t seem to care how the world treated them. He was especially kind to folks who didn’t even appear to be trying at all. Which was a big part of why, when he pointed out my mistakes, I generally took it to heart.
“You should use better manners with her,” he said after listening to me speak to a little old lady in a bait shop one morning.
We were on our fourth day of fishing during my spring break from fourth grade, and sunrise was still at least two solid hours away. In pursuing an outdoor life, early morning rollouts are a common necessity. The twice-daily transition between darkness and the light is always a critical time.
With practice and much difficulty, I’ve learned to manage the hours that happen between rollout and the crack of 9:30 a.m., when the rest of my soul comes straggling along, but the Old Man’s lessons were four decades ago, years before my rollout game began to exist.
Still, I thought I’d been plenty polite.
“I said, ‘Yes ma’am,’ didn’t I?” I asked.
“Yes, but the way you said it was grumpy,” he said. “If half of our minnows are dead when we get to the lake, you’ll know why.”
“MMmhhh,” I grumbled.
“What’s that?” the Old Man asked.
“Yes sir,” I said.Making allowances for the unknown suffering of others key to good will
The Old Man held the door open for folks walking up behind him. He said, “Yes ma’am,” and “No sir,” to folks no matter what their age. He was firm but polite to people determined to be rude. He was kind to people who didn’t seem to care how the world treated them. He was especially kind to folks who didn’t even appear to be trying at all. Which was a big part of why, when he pointed out my mistakes, I generally took it to heart.
“You should use better manners with her,” he said after listening to me speak to a little old lady in a bait shop one morning.
We were on our fourth day of fishing during my spring break from fourth grade, and sunrise was still at least two solid hours away. In pursuing an outdoor life, early morning rollouts are a common necessity. The twice-daily transition between darkness and the light is always a critical time.
With practice and much difficulty, I’ve learned to manage the hours that happ
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
I let my thoughts on the matter collect for a little while.
“She wasn’t all that polite herself,” I eventually said.
“How she acts isn’t my concern,” he said, “as long as the minnows don’t turn up dead. How you act is.”
I took this under advisement.
“How do you put up with people who are rude to you?” I asked.
“It’s easier for me than for you,” he said, “because you don’t yet enjoy the perspective of old age. Right now, she seemed rude because you don’t have much to compare it to, and because you haven’t been through enough things to be generous about her attitude. You’re aware you don’t know what might have happened in her life that you don’t know about. But you haven’t had enough things happen to you yet to be as generous with forgiveness as you’ll someday be.”
“We don’t know her,” I said. “How do you know she’s been through anything?”
The Old Man snorted and gave me a sorrowful look.
“One thing you’ll learn pretty soon,” he said, not unkindly, “is everybody’s been through something, son.”
Kevin Tate is the outdoors writer for the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal.
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Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 24 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
