A STORY WORTH TELLING
“ I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them.”
— Edward Parker Helms “I miss the good ol’ days,” someone said to kick off the coffee klatsch last week.
“Yeah? What do you miss the most?” another queried. “Drivers who actually understand the concept of turn signals and stop signs?”
That started a flood of responses.
“How about people who let you finish a sentence without interrupting?”
“I remember my mother telling me that if you can’t say something nice about someone, just smile and don’t say anything at all. Where did that good old day’s courtesy go?”
“My grandaddy said when slinging slurs and vulgar names start, it’s folks who can’t help it.
They just never learned a respectful vocabulary.” By the time the commentaries made it around to my side of the table, I had a story to share.
Imagine that.
“I think it’s all a matter of simple respect.
Years ago, as a young editor, I wrote what I believed was a balanced editorial, carefully laying out both sides of a local current issue before supporting my position,” I said. “My intent was to engage in a respectful presentation, featuring facts and logic that shaped my view.
Having committed my points to posterity, I sent the piece to press.”
In those days, I arrived at the office by 6 a.m. to get a head start during the morning quiet, then unlocked the door before 8 a.m.
That morning, I had just completed my routine when the door opened.
I turned to see a local attorney, a well-known, respected community leader. He was twice my age, tall and broadshouldered, and his deep wisdom was matched by his deeper voice.
In his hand was a rolled-up copy of that day’s edition, the one bearing my carefully crafted editorial opinion. “You got a minute for me?” he politely asked.
I returned his cheerfulness with, “Yessir —
always.” We sat down in my office, and he began, “I’ve read your editorial in today’s paper, and I think your argument is flawed.”
“OK,” I politely replied. “I did my research. But that said, with your experience and wisdom, I am eager to hear your viewpoints.” I listened to him with respect and without interruption.
Respect for my elders and respect for authority were virtues my parents instilled in me at an early age. With his conclusion, I expressed my gratitude to him for taking the time to share his thoughts and views with me. I also told him that while I fully respected his opinions, I still felt strongly that I was still on the right track with mine.
He was quiet for a moment. I likewise sat silently. With respect for his age and his wisdom, I had no idea what he might say next.
That’s when he smiled and said, “Well, I thank you for hearing me out.
I wish I could have persuaded you otherwise, but I respect your right to your opinions, and I support your right to express them. Even if we can’t agree.”
Then he said something that I have come to understand more fully as the years have passed: “If we ever fail to respect each other’s freedom to express an opinion, I fear, we will have lost our country.”
With a hearty handshake and a smile, he rolled up the newspaper, put it under his arm and walked out the door.
I recall that conversation often, usually when I consider lifelong friends who hold views very different from mine on topics ranging from “politics to pole cats,” as my grandmother used to say. Nevertheless, I value these friendships even more knowing that mutual respect exemplifies our belief that true friendship outweighs our differences of opinion.
I ended the coffee shop commentary with this: “I had good parenting examples. My dad was a lifelong Democrat. My mother was an unrelenting Republican. Each voted their convictions, effectively canceling the other’s vote every year.
Yet, they were happily married for 63 years because they respected each other’s opinions through love.”
I added, “It worked in the good old days. And I believe it would work today, if more people just knew they were living in the good old days before they’re gone.”
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@ gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge. com.
