Hello from the diner,
When I come to the diner today, I remember how this family establishment has become part of the collective memory of my time in Bloomsburg. There was a period where I was here most every morning and names like Dave, Doug, or Father Fennessy, seated at the left counter as you walked into the corner restaurant, were as constant as the days of the week. There were our own coffee cups (mine said “The Professor”) and four children, who were young and are now, for the most part, parents. I remember the first day one of them waited on guests versus only bussing. I remember the son looking at his father with the exasperated son-look, once upon a time. Now he is a carbon copy of him on the flattop. Memories of the youngest coming up to me at an area basketball game to say hello and bringing Easter baskets to all of them as they worked 7 days a week. Now I come on my own schedule, often sitting at the counter alone, other times with a former student. My exchange son loved coming to the diner, and his favorite food was scapple, that NEPA, Pennsylvania Dutch delicacy. What they (now three generations) bring to the community and their investment into Main Street can never be overstated. And yet while their lives have transformed generationally, they are now an important constant to the town and Husky Corner. They have and are enduring their own significant struggles like most do, but they soldier on, seldom slowing down and continuing to care about the people who enter the dinner daily. How? Why? I believe the answer, while multifaceted, is also rooted in the respect they have for themselves as business owners, but also in the decency they possess as simply good people. Over the years I have watched them help others, provide employment, and genuinely care about both their guests and the community at large, seldom asking for anything in return. They are a loving, entertaining, and giving family, not only for each other, but they have embraced the town as an extension of themselves. That is respect.
It’s is a value, an attribute, that I was taught as a child from the time I could walk or talk. My grandmother was one of the most polite and elegant people I have ever met. I remember her, even when angry, which was not often, she did not raise her voice; she did not swear, and I remember her way of saying she was upset was “I am so angry I could just spit!” Perhaps the most terrible thing we might say to another when we grew up was to tell them to shut up. I think I would have been in more trouble for that than if I had dropped the notorious F word, which of course, I did not know. When I was about 8 or so, she told me to always be a gentleman, another way of saying be respectful. I promised I would. Now today, when I have lived longer than she did, I realize the depth of that request and the promise I made to do so. Some of the other ways respect was just instilled in us included never addressing an adult by their first name, holding the door open for someone or giving up your seat for an elderly person; additionally, using manners, not interrupting, or waiting to be spoken to when in a group of adults was just accepted as givens. When I listen to the interactions between parents and offspring today, I am stunned. This is not to say I was in any shape or form always respectful in my home. In fact, when others would compliment me to my mother about my manners, she was more likely than not to look at them as if they had to be mistaken. I imagine it was similar for many in my generation. And yet, outside the house, I was very respectful. Of course, the Marine Corps instilled that in me beyond anything I could imagine. The other day I said ma’am to someone significantly younger than I am (and while I do know them, so that might have influenced their reaction), I do believe they were offended. Especially if I do not know someone, I am inclined to address them as ma’am. If I am walking down the street with a female, I will always attempt to walk closer to the street, and I might (often will) ask them to switch sides to manage that. Most certainly, I will try to treat everyone with respect as a general rule.
In the last couple weeks, it’s become apparent there is a small group of kids (midteens) who want to be the resident little thugs in town, riding their bikes and generally showing little or no mind to what they do or little regard for the consequences of their actions. I was walking down the sidewalk and two of them were standing by a house. The larger of the two had a nerf-type gun in his hand that appeared to have a clip of sorts with bullets. I acknowledged them and kept walking. When I was about 15 yards beyond them, he fired a shot and hit me square in the neck on the backside of my head. While it did not hurt, I will admit it startled me. I turned around and looked at them and he muttered out he was trying to hit the truck close by me. I just shook my head and turned around to continue on my way. At that point, I heard him say, “Dickhead!” I turned around again and took a step toward them and they disappeared down the alleyway. A few seconds later, he came riding by on his bike (on the opposite or the street), and I motioned and asked him to come to me, which he did. We had a conversation about the reality of the situation. I explained that he did not know me or what kind of a person I was, further explaining that he might do that to someone who might go after him. He was actually attentive and polite. I did tell him at the end of the conversation it was a good shot. The very next day I heard a ruckus outside my window in the library parking lot. As I looked out the window, this same boy and another were rolling on the concrete punching the bejeebers out of each other. A woman librarian was trying to break it up and they almost knocked her to the ground. I went to the parking lot and by the time I got there, three police cars had arrived. While the young man I now saw two days straight was waiting, I chatted with him again. I found out he is 16, and I explained that he is at a point he could be charged as an adult if the prosecutor saw fit. Long story short, the police were going to each boys house, and they sent them home because they knew where they lived. Not a good thing when you are still in your midterms. While speaking to two of the librarians what I heard about some home lives was dreadful.
The point of all of this gets back to the title of this post. Everywhere we look, regardless the station someone holds, our country is experiencing a disregard for common decency, for decorum or respect in ways I do not remember seeing in my lifetime. From the teenager on the street in small town America to those we have chosen to represent us, I hear language and observe actions that my parents, my grandparents would never tolerate. Seldom is there a day where we are not confronted by something that seems to further erode the standards we were raised with, born to believe necessary. I have no solution on some grand scale to be sure, but perhaps we need to step back and imagine something better. What would that better look like? What would we hope to experience in a better world? Respect for the other perhaps begins with respect for ourselves. Just a thought. Why is it important? If you find what you see happening a cause for concern, you have answered the question. Aretha said it specifically in her well-known tune, but thinking about it is a start.
Thanks as always for reading,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 