The Gentleman

Yesterday, I went to visit an old family friend at the hospital.

He was our neighbour, who lived across the street in the first house I lived in. His family, took care of me and my brothers from time to time and we came to his house as and when, as and when children do.

Little is the memory I have at his house. Except for flashes of which came during our visits there and gatherings after, when the adults spoke very fondly of those years back when. We don’t meet often over the years, but the encounters were always merry.

Some years ago at a wedding, sitting at a table of eight, he was the first to take a plate and scoop the rice from the lazy susan, as everyone noted and observed. Naturally, him being the oldest at the table, it was not uncustomary for him the start the first plate.

Without announcement, he passed the plate to my mother, and then to just about everyone else, before doing the same for himself. My mother point it out and I clearly remember this was my first memory of observing a gentlemen.

When I greeted him at the hospital yesterday, he was weak and could barely speak. The oxygen mask made him less audible. I shook his hand and leaned over to kiss it, as always. He lifts his other hand, placed it on my head, and pulled me down to kiss me.

He passed away an hour ago.