A man in his seventies shared the waiting room with my kids.
Between them on a coffee table sat a tub of black licorice with a post-it note that read, “help yourself.”
My daughter read the note, and my son understood the invitation.
At which time he fingered the tub of licorice and looked back at his sister. He knew better.
The gentleman spoke up over his folded hands. “I think you should ask your mommy first.”
And my son slunk back to an empty seat.
A moment later the gentleman twisted the lid to the licorice to “help himself.” Only my son interjected. “Don’t you think you should ask your mommy first?”