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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Learning Young From back when I was 7 and 8, When candy bars cost 5 cents, And “being polite” meant Even to strangers. The wrinkled, Baggy, old man, who Lived in the basement apartment Next-door, with the pass-time Of sitting outside on his Stoop atop five steps to ground level, Would always call me over To sit on his lap, which I’d do, Because as a child I’d been taught To be nice, be polite, especially To the older elders. So, I’d go, Not happily, breaking from backyard play. He’d hold out his hand, with A brown penny on it, saying it Was mine if I sat on his lap, which I did less for the penny Than a kindness toward his old Loneliness, sitting on his stoop Always staring off into boring space. Then, once seated on his lap, he Galloped his knees like adults do for toddlers To give the thrill of pretending horse play. Which were nice memories brought to me, But I was just that much older that Feelings unpleasantly flagged through me. So, I’d jump down, taking my penny, going home. From those days of never mentioning, or Realizing, or obeying, or valuing The Intuition, I was knowing it as what We just termed, “getting the creeps,” That were too uncomfortable to forget. That made being a polite child Insufferable for me — thus, I never told mother. That caused me to snub that neighbor after a time. And it was decades before I saw The lesson of the old man With his pennies For what it was. ———————————————————————————————— (c) sally Young eslinger 1/2021
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