High Five For Compassion

To the woman and child at table 9,

I never introduced myself, but my name is Tony Posnanski. I’ve been a restaurant manager for 15 years, and my role involves making sure everything runs smoothly, from washing dishes and cooking to occasionally serving tables. I’ve also handled countless guest complaints.

A few weeks ago, you came into my restaurant on a particularly busy night. I was running around helping the kitchen when I was asked to speak to a table near yours. They mentiond that your child was being very loud. As I spoke with them, I heard a loud beep from a young girl.

I walked over to your table, and as I approached, you knew what was coming. You saw the table pointing toward you. When I reached you, you looked at me and asked, “Do you know what it’s like to have a child with Autism?”

You weren’t rude, just sincere. Your daughter, no more than five years old, was beautiful but seemed scared, probably thinking she was in trouble.

In my 15 years as a manager, there aren’t many moments that stand out. I remember customers upset over burgers, a woman who called corporate because of a Coke mix-up, having to cut people off from alcohol, and asking parents to quiet their children.

But I remember the day my son was born — how I cried when I heard his first cry, how I promised to be the best father. I remember the day I married my wife and the day my daughter was born. That day, I didn’t cry; I was just relieved after losing a child two years earlier.

I knew what I was supposed to do when I reached your table — tell you to quiet your daughter, offer to move you, and avoid offending anyone. But I didn’t do that.

Instead, I wished you an amazing meal, high-fived your daughter, and told you the meal was on us. It was just $16, but it meant a lot to me. I’m sure the other guests weren’t thrilled, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.

I never found out how you reacted. I had to leave to help the kitchen. When the server asked why I covered the meal, I simply said you didn’t enjoy your steak. I didn’t share what you told me, but I was grateful you said it.

You asked me something I didn’t answer. The truth is, I don’t know what it’s like to have a child with Autism. But I know what it’s like to be a father, a husband, to wish I expressed my love more often, and to long for more time with my kids.

You’ve likely been through similar situations in other restaurants, and I didn’t want to be like those other managers. I didn’t want to offer the same response you’ve always heard.

I’m writing this to you and your beautiful daughter because I want to thank you. You gave me a lasting memory, one I’ll cherish after 15 years in this job.

And you taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes, doing the right thing doesn’t make everyone happy, but it does mean the world to those who need it the most.

Sincerely,

Tony Posnanski

credit goes to the respective owner~