Last week, my 87-year-old father, Bernard, nearly unleashed all kinds of pandemonium in the supermarket, though not in the ways youd expect. He wasnt angry about prices or expiry dates. No, he managed it simply by being slow. He did it with intention.
Friday evening, half past fiverush hour, or, as the English sometimes say, hells half hour. The shop was bursting with urgent bodies, everyone one irritation away from a breakdown. You know the mood: folks twitching at watches, flipping through news on their phones with an aura of for heavens sake, just move.
I was one of them. All I wanted was to grab Bernards porridge and hurry home.
But Bernard moved at his own rhythm. A retired miner, with hands like old oak bark, he never tolerates rush without reason.
When we finally reached the till, the cashier looked as though she might faint from fatigue. Her badge read Emily. Amazingly youngher eyes hollowed out by exhaustion. She scanned items with the robotic indifference of someone counting down the seconds to a break.
Good evening, Emily, my father said, his voice gravelly but still commanding attention.
Emily never looked up. She simply scanned the oats. Hello. Do you have a store card?
No, miss, Bernard replied. But may I ask: I need two large hazelnut chocolate bars from the display beside you. Id like you to ring each up separately. Ill pay cash.
Heat flooded my face. Behind us, a suited man sighed loudly, drumming his credit card on the conveyor belt with the impatience of someone desperate to escape.
Dad, I whispered, leaning close, Let me pay for it all at oncelets not hold up the queue.
Relax, son, he replied, not even glancing at me. The world wont stop turning.
Emily exhaled sharplya sound like a balloon slowly deflating.
All right, sir. Just a moment.
She scanned the first chocolate. Bernard pulled out his battered old wallet, its Velcro rasping. He didnt draw out a note but instead produced a heap of coins. Andslowly, carefullyhe began counting them.
One pound two two fifty he murmured, each coin drawn deliberately.
The air grew thick enough to touch. The suited man muttered, Unbelievable. Some folks have actual jobs, you know.
Bernard ignored him. He counted out exactly what was owed for the first chocolate bar, nudging the stack of coins to Emily. Her hands trembled as she checked them.
All right, she said, voice weak. Heres your first receipt.
Thank you, Bernard said. Now for the second, please.
He did it again. Just as slow. Just as methodical.
By the time hed finished paying for the second chocolate, the queue behind us had dropped into a strange, tense silence. Not a polite hushmore like a protest frozen in air.
Emily handed him the second receipt.
That everything, sir? she asked, already reaching for the divider to distance herself from this episode.
Almost, said Bernard.
He took the first chocolate and pushed it back over the counter towards her.
This is for you, he said. Have it with a lovely cup of tea next time you get a break. You look like youve got the whole world on your shoulders, and youre handling it brilliantly.
Emily was stunned. Somewhere, distant scanners beeped, but she didnt move.
And this, Bernard turned to the queue and looked directly at the red-faced man in the suit. He lifted the second chocolate and held it out. This is for you, he said, hand stretched.
The man blinked in shock.
What? Why would I want that?
Because you look like youve had a rough day, Bernard said, utterly sincere. And you waited patiently for an old man. Share it with your kids tonight.
The mans face turned a shade of scarlet Id never seen before. He looked at the chocolate, then at Bernard, then at the floor. His defensive posture dissolved, replaced by sudden, overwhelming embarrassment.
I I cant take it, he stammered.
Take it, Bernard urged. Do something kind.
Glancing at Emily, I saw her cover her mouth. Tears shone in her eyes. Not merely cryingshe was visibly relieved. The feeling was so strong I almost felt it myself.
Thank you, she whispered. Youve no idea this is the best thing thats happened today.
Bernard just tipped his cap.
Keep your chin up, love.
We walked out to the car park in silence. The winter air bit, but Bernard seemed calm and warm. As I started the car, I finally breathed out.
Dad, youre incredible. You know that bloke was about ready to tear your head off? You risked causing a scene just to give away chocolate?
Bernard gazed out the window at the flow of cars.
It was selfish, he said softly.
I laughed, Selfish? You just gave chocolate to a frazzled girl and made an angry man remember his humanity. How is that selfish?
Bernard rubbed his knees with calloused hands.
I watch the news, son, he said, tiredness in his voice. I sit in my chair and see a world wrapped in worry. Everyone arguing. Social media full of people at each others throats about things out of their control.
He looked at me:
They want us afraid. They want us to see others as enemies. It makes me feel small. Helpless. Im 87. I cant change the world. I cant end conflict. I cant make everyone stop fighting.
He breathed in deeply.
So I create a moment I can control. I make the world pause, even for two minutes. I change the energy within arms reach. I made that girl smile. I made that man think. It gives me a sense of control. It proves I still matter. Thats why its selfish. I do it for myself.
We pulled up to his house. As I helped him out, he gripped the bag of oats.
Wherere you headed now? I asked, seeing him move towards the neighbours gate.
To Mrs. Margaret, he croaked. Shes been poorly this weekher familys far away. Im off to cook her a bit of porridge.
Dad, I said with a grin, Thats not selfish. Thats love.
He paused and looked at me with a twinkle:
She says Im the best cook in the world. Its a real boost to the old ego. Pure selfishness, son!
He vanished into the twilightselfish old man, patching the world with one chocolate and one bowl of oatmeal at a time.
I sat in my car for ages before going home. I thought of alerts on my phone. The knot in my shoulders. Then Emilys face floated up in my memory.
Dad was right. We cant save this vast, noisy world. Its too big. But we can care for the three feet around us. We can make the world pause. We can choose kindness, especially when its awkward. Especially then.
If thats selfishnesswell, maybe we should all try to be a bit more like Bernard.
