Learning Young
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.
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(c) sally Young eslinger 1/2021
Copyright © Sally Eslinger | Year Posted 2021
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