IT HAPPENED IN LINE AT THE GAS PUMP

What struck me most about this incident is that I rarely write about experiences so close to me, experiences I have just lived through. Yet this seemingly small moment was far more revealing than it first appeared.

I was waiting in line at BJ’s to get gas. There were already several cars lined up behind me. Suddenly, a relatively new gray Jaguar pulled up against the flow of traffic, positioning itself to cut in between my car and the car ahead of me, bypassing everyone who had been waiting behind me. The driver then began blowing his horn because I would not let him in. He pointed his finger at me, signaling that I should move and let him through. My first thought was: I am not going to let you bulldoze me.

But then I reconsidered. I told myself this was not worth turning into a pointless confrontation. So I backed up as much as I could and let him in.

After he pulled ahead, I moved I saw that the pump I had been headed toward still had two cars in front of it, I decided not to wait there. I backed up and ended up directly behind him. By then, I was unusually upset. That is not typically my way, because I understand that people will act like people, and sometimes people act crazy.

Still, I rolled down my window, stepped out, and said to him, “That wasn’t cool, what you just did.” His response was immediate: “I ain’t waiting on nobody.”

I said, “Really? So you felt like that was right, what you did?”

Again he said, “I ain’t waiting on nobody.”

So I told him, “Well, that says a lot about your character and who you are.”

He said nothing else. He was a young man, and in many ways, he fit the posture we have come to recognize too easily: pants sagging, red underwear showing, no belt, pulling himself together outwardly while revealing inward disorder. But what gripped me was not simply him as an individual. It was what he represented…disregard for others.

What troubled me was the deeper pattern: one, perhaps two generations shaped by the belief that everything should be immediate, easy, and centered on the self. That is where the real problem lies. We have become a society of convenience, and convenience has fed narcissism, self-centeredness, disrespect, and a profound lack of integrity.

This young man was not unique. I see this spirit everywhere: on the road, in public spaces, in the casual disregard people show for order, patience, sacrifice, and respect. Young people cutting others off, racing to get ahead, refusing to wait their turn, acting as if consideration for others is a weakness rather than a virtue. That is only one example, but it points to something much larger and much more disturbing.

Why does this matter? Because it is frightening to witness young people with so little sense of sacrifice, so little regard for elders, and so little concern for anyone beyond themselves. As people say bluntly, many simply do not give a damn.

I do not know whether we can turn the clock back. Turning the clock back is not the right answer to the problem. Maybe the answer is turning the clock back on! I do not know whether what has been lost can be fully recovered, in this digital world. But I do know this: the ethic of mothering, of communal care, of leadership rooted in responsibility to others, has been deeply eroded. That loss is especially painful in the African American community, where Afrocentric values of respect, eldership, shared responsibility, and communal identity have been steadily displaced by an aggressive Western individualism: get mine, secure the bag, be the smartest, be the slickest, be first, no matter the cost to community.

That mentality has seeped into our communities and hollowed out much of what once gave us moral center. It has left too little room for accountability, too little courage to speak against what is wrong, and too little reverence for the wisdom that once held us together.

And perhaps the most frightening part is this: the very generations that should be preparing to carry us forward often do not appear formed enough to save us from what is coming.

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