Nobody could have predicted what would transpire in the minutes that followed when a biker slapped an 81-year-old veteran in a cafe. 
The stench of overbrewed coffee and greasy fries permeated the diner’s ambiance. Customers were dispersed: a family savored their burgers, a truck driver sipped his coffee leisurely.
An elderly Vietnam War veteran crouched in a corner, his frail body and tattered jacket. His hands were firmly on the table as he drank his dark coffee.
Abruptly, the door opened, allowing the refreshing breeze to enter. A large leather-clad motorcyclist stepped in, his boots slamming into the floor. His eyes lingered on the elderly man’s table as he looked around the room. He shouted, “You dare, old dinosaur?” Whispers stopped, forks hung in midair, and the entire diner froze.
The motorcyclist spoke louder. “You’re in my place, old skin,” I said. Get moving before I force you to. The elderly guy raised his head, his eyes weary. “I’ve lived through unspeakable tragedies, son. However, if you’re so adamant about getting this seat, go for it.
The elderly man was slapped across the cheek. His coffee spilled and his cap dropped on the ground. A woman shielded her child’s eyes while the waitress screamed in a muffled voice. “You should’ve stayed where you were, soldier,” the biker said with a laugh. No one responded, and a thick quiet descended upon the room.
The veteran remained silent. Reaching down, he cleaned his sleeve, picked up his cap, and whispered to the waitress, “Will you lend me the public phone? I must get in touch with my son. Calm and measured, he called the number. He then waited, staring out the window.
Nobody could have foreseen what transpired in the ensuing minutes.
Slowly, the minutes went by, and the tension in the air increased. The self-assured motorcyclist waited for a response, a hint of weakness, but it never materialized. The veteran just stood there, immobile, staring into space.
The diner door then abruptly opened again, more forcefully this time. A tall man came in wearing a black leather coat. He exuded natural authority with his graying hair and aged features.
His boots stomped solidly on the ground as he strode straight at the motorbike. He took out a leather wallet and held it up to the young man’s eyes without saying anything.
A sergeant-major’s plaque shone inside. The motorcyclist was unable to speak. “You want to play tough with this veteran?,” the man replied sternly, glaring at him. Recognize that he is not alone.
Then he looked at the elderly man and smiled reassuringly at him. “This young soldier trained men just like me.” Additionally, I’m here to tell you that respect is something that must be earned rather than taken.
The whole crowd held its breath as the motorcyclist, suddenly overcome with doubt, stepped back
