A postman retired and a neighborhood wouldn’t let him go without some hugs

Back when my now-97-year-old mother was a spry 80-year-old Yankee, she would occasionally change some light bulbs in the kitchen near the door on a fairly rickety stepladder.

Her children, of course, warned her not to do that but you can’t tell old Yankee women what to do in their own house. That’s just not how it works.

Besides, she had a plan.

“I only do it around the time the mailman comes,” she said.

Because if she’d fallen and hurt herself, the mailman would rescue her. He was the latest in generations of mail carriers who looked out for her and everyone else on their route.

Back in the day, the people who delivered the mail became the thread of a neighborhood and a big part of its life.

So I was all in when @LR_Carlson (and @atrupar) passed along this thread on Friday of one mailman spending his last day doing his part to be the daily glue in a country that is too quickly coming apart.

I know what you’re thinking: “the man wants to see Hawaii someday. The internet should do that thing the internet does so well.”

The internet did.