We must be raising them right

Back in the summer of 2016, I attended one of the sessions organised by The United States Educational Foundation in Pakistan with my daughter. One of the Foundation's task was to coach and guide promising students on not just how to apply at American Universities but to apply in a way that increased their chances of getting accepted.

For this session they had invited the parents along as well. The session was headed by a fragile and sweet looking Pakistani American (judging by her accent) called Rafia (Amazingly, I still remember her name).

After the customary meet and greet session and a few introductory speeches by the students, it was time for what all Pakistanis look forward to after attending any meeting or gathering.

Refreshments.

The self-service buffet style refreshment table was set in a corner and was laden with variety of typical Pakistani snacks including chicken patties, which is basically a savory puff pastry filled with chicken meat.

The plates as well as the plastic forks were disposable which are notoriously spineless when it comes holding their own. The second I tried to insert my plastic fork into those crackly layers of puff pastry the disposable plate beneath it bent on its side, sending the chicken patties and nachos on my plate flying into the air before landing on the carpet by my feet.

DAMN

I bent down and picked up the fallen puff pastry and bigger pieces of nachos which I placed on the table behind me. There still remained on the carpet some smaller bits of nachos and a few broken pieces of flaky puff pastry that would have to picked up later by a cleaning brush.

 “whoever threw those crisps on the carpet needs to pick them up right now “

Barely two minutes later a booming voice echoed across the room. It was not the sternness of the loud voice that startled me, but rather the fact that it came out of the mouth of the fragile and sweet looking Rafia was what astonished me more.

That “whoever” she was referring to was obviously me.

The first though that went through my head was to ask my daughter, networking on her own somewhere in the crowd, to come and pick it up for me. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed to pick up my mess but it was embarrassing to so do so after Rafia ‘s ultra-stern and ultra-loud command which had echoed across the room. The situation made me feel like a naughty 6-year-old being reprimanded by her nanny more than a forty plus woman.

But that option to ask my daughter for help was discarded almost the moment it entered my head. There is no explanation why it should have entered my head in the first place. There was no way I was going to put my child in an embarrassing and awkward position that was not her fault.

I am not that kind of a mom.

Secondly, there has never been an incident in my life, that I can recall, where I have not owned up to my mistake, or tried to cover it up, no matter how embarrassing it might be.

That is not me either.

Funny enough, the idea of not picking it up never occurred to me. I don’t know if Rafia had seen me either drop or pick up or if she just issued a general directive upon seeing the mess. It was not really important anyway. What was important was that I knew I did it.

It would have to be me.

I turned to put my plate on the table behind me to free my hands for the task but when I turned back a couple of seconds later I was momentarily frozen into immobility.

 If I had been surprised by the capability of deceptively sweet looking Rafia to issue a directive that loud and stern, I was totally dumbfounded by what I saw before me now.

There were three youngsters already squatting on the carpet clearing up my mess.

Just as I was turning to place the plate on the table earlier, I had vaguely heard a conversation between a couple of teenagers standing a few paces from me.

“Shall we?”

“Sure why not?”

Didn’t realize what they had meant till I turned back.

The overwhelming feeling of gratitude that went through me at that moment is indescribable.

“We will manage. You don’t have to do it.” One of the girls with curly hair said to me as I bent down to help them.

“No I want to”. I insisted.

Together we cleared up the space in about thirty seconds, something which might have taken me at least two minutes to do on my own.

Two whole long minutes during which I would have squatted on the floor alone clearing up while people around me would probably have continued to network. 

But between the four of us, not only was the task completed in one fourth of the time, it also was impossible to tell which one of us, if any one of us, was responsible for that mess. 

Those girls shared my embarrassment in a way that it no longer remained embarrassing.

Never have I been more indebted to a bunch of kids in my life than I was at that point.

How many of us never lift a finger to do something that requires minimal effort from us simply because it had nothing to do with us or because it is not our responsibility to do so?

How many of us do something simply because it is the right thing to do regardless of whoever’s responsibility it was to do it in the first place?

Not a whole lot.

So when someone says to me that kids today are too argumentative, too opinionated, too liberal, too assertive, I agree with them. They are all that, but they are also decent and caring with a very strong sense of what is right and what is wrong.

Whereas, it may be true that not all of them are like that. There will always be exceptions. But for most part when I see youngsters, I see a good future ahead of us.

So my request to those of us who have a decent number of years under their belt is that instead of hastily passing judgment on some action of the younger generation or on some opinions they voice that do not agree with us, let us give them a chance to show us who they truly are first.

I guarantee, quite a few of them will cause us to be pleasantly surprised.