When visiting his grand-father, it was all Jordan could do to restrain himself. It had taken a while, but eventually he could recognise situations where it was better to leave well-enough alone. He would rock back on his heels, to avoid an automatic response. He would stick his hands in his pockets, or under his armpits. Anything, rather than remove that last vestige of human dignity.
He was amazed the old fella was still living by himself, and how come his mother tolerated it. Until he watched her. With him. Observed how they interacted. That unspoken respect that glowed from their eyes. That is where he learned the need for dignity. Where he learned its value. Where it dawned upon him that, given another twenty years, it would be him interacting with his mother. And, presumably, another twenty years after that, he would be the recipient of some whippersnapper’s condescension.