I have had recent surgery on my left hand, so it functions slower and less dexterously than I or it would want. One recent day coming out of a grocery, I stopped to fumble with the zipper of my jacket. A fellow Vietnam-era gent came out of the store just behind me. Thinking I was in his way, slowing him down, I quickly said, “sorry.” He immediately responded, “Ah, you’re doing as well as you can with what you’ve got!” I just loved his reply, and it is why I’m writing about the being “sorry.”

One of the often heard call-outs from my early tennis playing days was: “sorry.” The courts were stacked next to each other on my neighborhood fields. Each court was “regulation,” and of course included doubles court lines. Each court was also separated from the next by around eight or ten feet. But as I assure you, my early wacks at tennis balls many times didn’t go where I had intended. Those ten feet around the courts were filled with curse words and the oft called out….”sorry!” I hit balls with intention and pace, it is just that they were as likely to splay long or wide, not exactly anywhere near the person waiting for a return. Equally when we’d try to hit neighboring errant balls back to their respective owners, they’d as often go long or wide, and realizing soon about their trajectory the word would ring out again, “Sorry!” Usually the next court over or even three courts over were not much better than we were. So we’d hear over and often: “little help” from them (calling out for their ball’s return rather than walking through our court, where we’d just called out: “little help” to them and their returned errant ball was soon in the air heading in our general direction.. And as often as not, they’d yell out yet another“Sorry!” while that ball soared past or over our heads. As many multiple times the word leaped out of my mouth, equally often it was heard from others, so I figured that we maybe all should simply stop saying it. (It goes without saying, everyone’s sorry a bunch, so why keep saying it?)

This is a preamble to explaining that I was lucky enough to be brought up to be polite. When making a mistake, I do tend to go ahead and admit that I’m sorry.

We all say we’re sorry far more often than we mean it.

Is there a link between the calling out of “little help” and “sorry?” How is either expression a springboard the unfolding of our character. There is currently a road-side sign I’ve seen which suggest that we: “be nice.” Tennis etiquette appearing as rules of the road.

Dialogue is often inspired by an urge to be positive, not by an urge to complain, judge or to identify somone else’s problems.

“Sorry,” or “excuse me,” or “pardon me”, as antiquated almost British expressions are equally indebted to an idea embedded in language itself not just for the “Brit’s”. We naturally respond kindly and in kind to one another. Linked to this interaction in the English language, reminds me of a foggy high school French expression, “il ne pa de qua.” And as “googled” this: if the person is your sibling/family or a close friend. you might say instead: “C’est rien” (That’s nothing) or “Pas de quoi” (No reason to thank me) or “T’inquiète” (Don’t worry) or “Pas de souci” (No worry).

To cite an almost opposite meaning, I remember from years past “sorry, but” in hot anger having not been remotely either excused or forgiven. Tone is everything, isn’t it? Chances are I didn’t always mean the apology. Equally, I have had people “apologize” to me in ways that I have neither accepted nor believed. Often such apologies are perfunctory. When they are said in this way, they lose all meaning.

Certainly there was a time when “sorry” became incorporated into an iconic piece of advice; it was central to the soul of Eric Segall’s Love Story (1970). Over the years, I’ve found myself thinking it as a good measure of relationships. Time proves to be the ultimate thief doesn’t it? When we imagine that we’ll get around to an apology only to find years later that it is too late, is one of the penultimate feelings of loss. It is like being held in a locked escape-proof jail having held honest emotions somewhere in limbo. The game board for SORRY doesn’t show us the significance of being granted forgiveness

Undoubtedly that’s why we feel such pure admiration for Edith Piaf when she sings without a shadow of doubt: Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. It is reflective of youth, to think we’ll one day stroke those tennis balls without error. I’m very aware that we will always need “a little help.”