Michael continued.
“I’m sorry.”
Mom nodded.
“Thank you for saying that.”
He hesitated.
Then reached for his wallet.
“Can I leave you something?”
I stiffened.
Here we go, I thought.
A wealthy man trying to purchase forgiveness.
But Mom surprised both of us.
She gently raised one hand.
“Michael, put your wallet away.”
He froze.
“I just wanted to—”
“I know.”
She smiled sadly.
“But the problem wasn’t the tip.”
Michael looked confused.
Mom continued.
“I’ve gone home with empty pockets before.”
“I’ve worked shifts where I barely made enough to cover gas.”
“And I’ve had customers who couldn’t afford to leave anything.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“That doesn’t bother me.”
Then her voice became firmer.
“What bothers me is somebody looking at an honest day’s work and deciding it makes the person doing it less worthy of respect.”
Michael lowered his eyes.
