A Handful of Respect

I still remember how my school asked us to keep our hands tied behind our backs whenever we marched in front of our teachers and principal. When I was confused about the need for it, my parents explained that it was a sign of respect.
“You don’t behave casually in front of someone who deserves respect,” Mama said.
“How do I know who deserves it?” I asked, confused.
“Well, that is a good question,” Mama exclaimed. “Sometimes it’s people who do you good. Sometimes it’s someone who is honest and just. You will learn as you grow older. But for now, remember everyone older than you is a respected elder,” she added.
I hesitated for a moment. Does she mean everyone who is older than me deserves respect? I wondered. But I didn’t ask her again. I knew it would piss her off. So, I went on following the tradition of showing respect with my hands tucked behind me. To everyone—my teachers, principal, parents, uncles and aunts, and even any random old person across the lane. I would involuntarily pull my hands behind my back and hold my left hand with my right. My palm would be wide open, and my fingers splayed, as if I were trying to grasp of an imaginary object.
But then one day, I saw Mama yelling at our milkman. She looked enraged. There was a look of distress on the old man’s face as he kept staring at her. She wasn't holding her hands behind her back, instead, she was swinging them up in the air, though he was older than her. Then it struck me. I had never seen Mama holding her hands behind her back. I suddenly wanted to know why.
“Mama, do you remember telling me that any older deserves respect?” I asked.
“Yes, dear one. That is true,” she replied.
“But didn't you yell at our milkman? Your hands weren’t tied behind, too.” I asked, skeptically.
“Oh, that! People like him are an exception. When I told you’d figure it out, I was talking about such people.”
Instead of being annoyed by my question, she appeared calm. So, I decided to probe more.
“How do I know who deserves respect and how much?”
“Baby girl, not everyone you meet will do you good. Older people can have ill intentions too. When they hurt you or make you cry despite you being a good person, you must stay away from them. They do not deserve your respect anymore.” As she finished, another question bloomed in my mind.
“So, what happens with my hands then? What do I do with them?”
“Well, for now, whenever you land in such a position, you must turn your hands into a fist, breathe out and let it go. Until you are old enough to handle them yourself.”
I didn't know it would soon turn into our secret code. Soon enough, my hands started forming a fist in all the places they were once free—when my teacher unjustly excused a bully, when my neighbour sneaked in a half-naked girl, and when my uncle tried explaining my body parts to me, making me uncomfortable. I didn't know for how long, but I continued doing it until my Mama noticed it oneday, who then freed me of the discomfort once and for all.