Thank you, sonny!

By Nikola Maric

nikola_maricIt seems like yesterday. My home room teacher asked me to address the 7th grade Parent-teacher meeting and wish them welcome to our gymnasium, or, a Junior High school as we would call it here in America. I was young, energetic, full of hope and ideas as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I had those moms and dads, aunts and uncles jumping for joy as I tried my best to make them feel good before they were to meet with our teachers. My poor home room teacher asked me to rehearse my speech before I would go on and she almost fainted when I told her I had no written speech to rehearse!

 

It

That was then, way back in the late forties of the last century when even eighteen years olds seemed very old to me, and people over fi fty looked ancient. Age is a relative term, and it depends on how old you are, but one thing was certain; old was always at least twenty years older than you were. We were taught to respect older people, give them our seat if the bus or train were crowded, yes, even to help some old lady cross the street if a situation occurred. Holding the door for them was as essential as saying hello whenever passing one on the street.

Looking back on those times it seems to me now that some of those “older” people often abused their assumed privileges. They were simply nasty and demanding, while others in the same age bracket never expected to be treated differently, and for a long, long time when I became “old” and rightfully expected to be treated with respect, I never exercised that “right”.

Which brings me to an interesting and refreshing “incident” which just recently occurred at our church one cold Sunday afternoon here in Cleveland. After the liturgy we were leaving the church, greeting the friends and searching for the car keys, when all of a sudden a young man, Boy actually, stepped in front of me and offered me a small but tastefully decorated fruit basket.

I was more startled than surprised, but I fi nally accepted the basket when I realized that some other people were already holding the very identical fruit baskets as they made their ways to the church parking lot. I also realized something else at the same time. All those people had something in common with me, namely, they were also old.

- Thank you, sonny, I finally said to the young boy. What is your name? Nikola, replied the youngster!

How often does one hear people complain about the rudeness and lack of manners when talking about our young people today? How often do we brag about our youth?

When I was your age I…

Actually, nothing has changed. We just got older and conveniently forgot about the way we acted when we were young. I could not get out of my head this rather pleasant and extraordinary experience at our Serbian Orthodox Church. Whose idea was it to do this? What prompted it? Who paid for the baskets? Specially in these diffi cult economic times?

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