There was once a time when common courtesy was the norm. Hence…common courtesy.
Now…there’s nothing common about it.
There are those who allow the elevator doors to close even as you plead “hold that elevator”. There are those who think nothing of walking through a door ahead of you and allowing it to slam shut in your face.
Almost no one sends ‘thank you’ cards anymore.
Almost no one remembers that ‘it’s the thought that counts’, and of course, these days, there’s actually very little thought put into it.
Teenagers stand on the street corner and yell “Nah! Fuck you bro’!” to their homies without regard for the young children nearby. And, they pull to a red light, with their windows rolled down, and don’t even flinch at the idea that they’re blasting their obscene rap music within earshot of the elderly couple in the Buick next to them.
There was a time when, even if one lacked in manners or grace, their common sense would appeal to them to avoid the embarrassment of having others recognize that fact. Guilt and shame could persuade a person to behave in ways that they might not otherwise behave.
I have, regretfully, come to accept the fact that in many ways, our society is beginning to collapse.
I have not, however; come to accept certain of these atrocious behaviors…
Today, while driving down Hendricks Avenue, I noticed, that coming towards me, was a motorcycle cop. I then noticed that behind him was a stream of cars, all with their headlights on. I recognized immediately that a funeral procession was passing by. Without a moments hesitation, I pulled my car to the side of the road, and fully expected others to do the same.
I was mistaken in my assumption.
Cars continued to fly past me without even tapping their brakes.
On a wide road, with plenty of on-the-curb parking, and a firm shoulder upon which to rest, there was no excuse for their disregard, nay, disrespect. I looked ahead…and not even one car had pulled over. I looked behind me and found that only a lone biker had pulled to the side, and I was deeply saddened.
The person in the hearst might have been a soldier, or a fireman, or a pastor or a priest. They were someone’s daughter or son and, perhaps, someone’s mother or father. They were likely someone’s brother or sister, and they undoubtedly had friends who loved them deeply, riding in the procession behind them. They might have lived a long happy life, or they might have died at birth.
They were once a living, breathing, human being and no matter who they were, and no matter who was riding behind, all deserved a single moment of my day.
I can still recall, when I was only ten years old, and my great-grandfather had passed away, that while driving down the country roads in Georgia, that every single car, on either side of the road, had pulled over to let us pass. I asked my grandmother why, and she responded, “Honey. It’s out of respect. That’s what people do.”
And, it was that simple.
I was just what people do.
Today, after the procession had passed, I glanced into my rear-view mirror before pulling back into traffic, and saw that the biker was coming up behind me. As he passed, he looked over at me, and I looked back.
We nodded, knowingly, and went about our day.