A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.
– Henry Brooks Adams
T
he tired ex-teacher edged closer in a long line to the counter at Kmart supermarket. Her left leg became hurt because of too much moving, and she hoped she had taken all of her pills that the doctor gave her for the day: the ones for her high blood pressure, dizziness and a host of other illnesses of the old that she unluckily suffered. “Thank goodness, I retired years ago,” she thought to herself. “I don’t have the energy to teach the kids these days.”
Just behind her, people in line to the counter were waiting for their turns to pay, she spotted a young man with two children and a young pregnant wife. The teacher couldn’t miss the tattoo on his arms and neck. He’s been to prison, she thought and continued checking them out. His audacious face together with the moldly dusty T-shirt and baggy pants led her to surmise, “He must be a member of an infamous gang.”
Despite that, the teacher tried to let the man go ahead of her, “It’s OK. He goes with two kids.”
“You can go first,” she offered tenderly and stepped back to let them pass.
“No, you go first,” he insisted to refuse.
“No, you have more people with you,” said the teacher.
“We should respect our elders,” the man pleaded to refuse. And with that, he gestured with a sweeping motion indicating the way for the woman.
A brief smile flickered on her lips as she hobbled in front of him. She in her manner decided she couldn’t let the moment go, and she turned back to him, “Who taught you your good manners?”
“You did Mrs. Simpson, in third grade. You don’t remember me?”
- Paul Karrer