“Thank you, young man.” I can still hear the sound of the elderly lady’s voice as I held the door open for her at my auntie’s apartment building.
I spent countless weekends with my great aunties. I was raised to be seen and not heard, to hold open doors for my elders, and answer with “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am.” I believe that I was around 9 years old at the moment that I heard “Thank you, young man.” It was a sunny day.
The double-door entryway gave way to a hall with metal mailboxes lining the wall and the dreaded “alligator.” (That’s what I called the elevator.) I was genuinely terrified of it and would cry at times when having to use it.Read more on themighty.com