My dad raised his kids to have good manners. He learned that from the conservative  Catholic School he attended, as a boy. That school had strict rules, and one of them was good manners. If you broke that rule, you’d probably get a beating, by the nuns.

Fast-forwarding a few years, my big brother was in his 20s, riding a motorcycle, and got hit pretty hard by a pickup truck, from the side. His leg was more crushed than broken, with his foot pointing in the wrong direction when he stopped tumbling. He was in an ambulance for about a fifteen minutes when he politely asked a paramedic, “Can I scream?” After all, screaming in front of people is impolite. She said yes, and he did.

Dad was worried for his son, but I suspect Dad was also proud of his manors.

A friend of mine had Crones disease and lived for decades when he was supposed to live for years. In his last few years, he was in the hospital again, and the doctor was explaining a few scenarios. One of them ended in death, in which case my friend asked the doctor, “And who do I talk to if that happens.

Months ago, I had a test that required minor surgery. They had to get a bone sample from one of my ribs and some bone marrow. Just before the surgery, I was laying in the operating room face down, with my back exposed for the surgeon. The nurses were friendly, but they also asked some standard questions, like my name, date of birth, and the procedure I was here for. Still laying face down with my back exposed, I said my name was Steven Malikowski. My date of birth is 9 November, 1965, and I’m here for a massage. I added that I prefer the massage oil to be warmed first, if possible. Fortunately, they laughed. Better still, the results of that test showed my cancer was not on my rib or bone marrow.

After a long bike ride, me and some friends enjoyed a beer, maybe 2. I knew them well, and at some point, it felt alright to share the latest news about my cancer, without throwing a damper on the nice night. I mentioned that my main treatment reduces my testosterone. It used to be almost 700, and now, it’s 2. A close friend asked, “Did your voice change?” Using the highest voice I could possibly muster, I replied, “No, not all.”