I was born with a disability. That is, I entered the world surely believing that all people were “Wonderful, Wonderful,” and filled with good will and kindness. And I know this would be the very best way for everyone to feel, even if it weren’t so. And it isn’t. Although there really are many “Wonderful, Wonderful” people on earth, there are some who are just the opposite, and if you don’t know this, then you are vulnerable and at a distinct disadvantage from the beginning, as was I.

Through the early years, I can remember many times looking up to find my mother standing over me, wringing her hands, and saying “Orrin, Orrin, when will you ever learn? When will you ever learn?”

It wasn’t until many years had passed, and I was in my 50s, that I was able to phone her and say, “Hey, mom, I finally learned.”

But, somewhere along the way to now, I was told that, as human beings, we take care of one another and show kindness wherever we go, and I believed it because it sounded right. So, over the years I’ve opened doors for the tired and burdened, and held them open for women, children and the elderly. It always felt good to me, and I never questioned the concept at all.

Sometimes I’d get a “Thank you” or a nod of the head in acknowledgment for opening a door for someone, and I’d say, “You’re welcome.” But over the years I think I’ve seen a steady decline in the level of kindness and civility that I grew up with.

Perhaps I’m wrong and it’s just that I’ve become more observant than I was when I was young. However, in recent years I’ve even heard “I didn’t think there were any of you left” in place of a simple “Thank you,” for opening a door, and have replied, “Yes, there’s still a couple of us left.”

Direct evidence that others, too, noticed the steady decline in kindness and civility.

As I grew into my 70s and 80s, I began to find that, occasionally, someone would open the door for me, and it always made me feel uncomfortable or somehow “wrong,” because it was supposed to be me doing the door thing and not someone else.

And then, last week, right there at the front door of the Kennebunkport Post Office, with my arms full of hundreds of pieces of mail I had just unstuffed from my mailbox, with a cubic foot box wobbling on top of the pile, approaching the top step of the six steps to ground level and thinking that most folks my age die from falling down, it happened.

Three younger men in their 50s looked up at me from the bottom of the steps, and one asked me, “Are you all right?” The second asked, “Can we help you?” while the third extended his forearm to me and said, “Do you want to hold my arm?” and I said, “No,” but I did take his arm to steady me, and I said, “Thank you” and made my way down the six steps to ground level, back to the car, and I did not fall down, and I did not die.

There still is kindness.

Orrin Frink is a Kennebunkport resident. He can be reached at ofrink@gmail.com.

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