As a kid, I never said thank you.
I thought my parents were my slaves, which meant in my mind that everybody else might as well be.
It was mostly their fault. They were so liberal they would let me insult them and throw tantrums in the middle of overcrowded buses because it was healthy to express my emotions.
They called it compassionate parenting.
My grandma was different
Aged six, my parents sent me to her house for a summer of fun. The fun was only on paper. In reality, it was a nightmare. A nightmare I’m grateful for.
Thank you, grandma.
On the first day, I learned that not saying thank you for the meal she had cooked and served was a big mistake.
I also learned that insulting her and shouting “I wanted something tastier for lunch, OLD WITCH” was an even bigger mistake.
To this day, I remember my grandpa’s face when he realized what I had just said to his wife. He was unhappy with my behavior, but his expression showed more concern for my life than anything.
At first, I didn’t understand why.
My grandma smiled, took my plate, and told me to play in the garden while she prepared something else.
After my usual running like a madman routine, I returned for some yummy lunch.
Waiting for me was a plate with one green pea on it.
I loved peas. So I ate it. And shouted: “MORE.”
“No,” my grandma replied.
My grandpa had disappeared somewhere with his coffee, and I wouldn’t see him again before the next day. He knew.
“MORE!”
“No.”
It lasted for some time.
Trying to be more stubborn than my grandma was a mistake I would repeat a few times that summer.
With identical consequences.
I didn’t get more peas. I didn’t get more lunch. I didn’t get any snacks, nor did I get any dinner. I went to bed hungry. Hungrier than I had ever been.
Some people might consider this a bit harsh. It depends on where you stand on the scale of traditional education. It currently ranges from moral laxity to Jordan Peterson. My grandma stands somewhere above Jordan Peterson squared.
Needless to say, I woke up hungry.
My grandpa came to my rescue.
“I’m so hungry, grandpa.”
“I know, I know, we’ll have breakfast soon. I came to give you a piece of advice. If your grandma gives you something, say ‘thank you, grandma,’ and, if you want something, say “please, grandma.”
Grandma, who was listening behind the door, was surprised to hear my reply, “Thank you, grandpa.” As she told me later, she knew there was still hope for me right then.
At breakfast, a plate with one pea waited for me.
At first, I cried.
My grandparents waited patiently without touching their breakfast.
They knew it was a decisive moment and wanted to show respect. After a few minutes, or maybe one hour, I don’t remember, I said, “Thank you for breakfast, grandma,” and ate my pea.
“Would you like some more?”
“Yes, please.”
It was the first of many lessons I would learn that summer. It wasn’t always pleasant, but it was fair. My grandma had rules, and if you respected them, life was fantastic.
All her rules served me well later in life, and I still respect them. The first and most important rule is to say “thank you” when someone goes out of their way to do something for you.
That’s why I always say thank you to people subscribing to my Substack. It’s the nice thing to do.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom.
(I mean that, not joking)
Thank you for having a nice hat :-)