I’m sorry, the apologies started in the stroller

I’m an apologizer. Always have been. Always will be.

My sister is equally apologetic. I believe it may be genetic, since we come from a long line of them.

In fact, my first full sentence as a wee one was, “I sowwy, Mommy.” I think it was for being such a heavy sack for her to have to haul around. I was quite a little pudge. I digress.

It’s tough to determine on which side of the family it originates because my considerate, wonderful Mom is so kind and gentle and offers apologies often, especially to soothe, encourage or support. #MomsASaint

So it may come from me Irish side, dontcha know.

Then again, my little Nonna was forever laying a hand on her chest and uttering “Scusi!” for just about everything or saying in her adorably accented way: “I’ma so sorry!” #IMiss YouNonna

Hmm. Perhaps it’s those Italian roots that are so repentant?

Speaking of contrition and such, maybe my penchant for penitence was born at St. Matthias grade school. The I-was-taught-by-nuns part of this equation may be a determining factor in the old repeated remorse. I mean, you didn’t mess with the sisters, mister. #RulerKnucklesWereReal

Somehow my Pop and his mini-me Kyle didn’t get the gene. Then again, neither did Kerry, yet, my besties all have it — each is a big time sorry-sayer. I’d make the obvious gender claim except for the fact that my sweet big brother says it regularly. #ThanksDan

Back to sad little square one.

I’m not really that pathetic. I mean, I only apologize when I’m sorry, nervous, uncomfortable, sad, frustrated or if I snorted too many times while laughing.

This one stems from a very painful memory. I clearly recall a boy in my Organizational Communications class mocking me as I walked in one afternoon. He hadn’t seen me enter as his back was to the doorway.

“Who am I?” he said, then chortled like a wild boar about 78 times — very, very loudly. “She’s SO annoying. Like we don’t know she’s doing it for attention,” he said. #UnnecessarilyHarsh

I was more embarrassed than if I’d walked into the room in my birthday suit (almost) and did what any good apologizer worth her weight in salty tears would. I mustered up all the courage in my 20-year-old insecure self and said, “It just happens when I laugh really hard. I’m sorry if it bothers everyone.”

My pal Mikki rushed to my defense. “You know what?,” she told the kid. “You’re an idiot and the only one impressed is YOU!” she spat. #JefftheJerk

I don’t think I ever thanked her sufficiently and for that, well, you know what I am. #Miss YouMikki

It’s funny how we well-meaning apologizers are marginalized, made fun of or — as was the case in the grocery store yesterday — outright ignored.

It was a particularly busy day at Giant Eagle and as I scurried along, I had to squeeze past many buggies. Whenever I got too close to one, I said to its driver, “Excuse me, sorry!” It happened no less than four times, all of which went completely unanswered. #Rude

Then it happened. As I made my way over to the DIY lane, the gentleman in front of me jumped up to clear his cart from my path.

The store roof split open, sunshine burst through the clouds and angels sang as he smiled over at me and said, “Was that in your way? I’m so sorry!”

I paid his entire grocery bill.

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who hopes you’ll like her daily blog www.patriciakimerer.com. If you don’t, she’s sorry.