There were hard-and-fast rules. Never sing at the dinner table. Never talk with your mouth full of food (who wants to see that, for goodness' sake?). Everyone knows you keep your mouth closed when chewing. And you better keep one hand in your lap when eating. By the way, slow down--are you going to a fire?
There were five kids and only a certain amount of energy to corral us into something presentable. But my mother valiantly tried. She never stopped giving it her best shot, long after we were adults who should know better.
Some rules related to dress. No, you are absolutely not going to town in those shorts. Just scandalous. You will wear something that covers you appropriately. No, you will not wear white shoes until Easter. And surely, you're not wearing THAT in public? My mother--a beautiful seamstress--knew quality clothing when she saw it. And she better see it on us.
We knew to say "yes ma'am" and "no sir" under penalty of corporal punishment. We knew not to "talk back." Heaven help one of us who interrupted a speaking adult. Children should listen first and talk when asked. And then it better be something worth hearing.
We were taught to respect our teachers, our elders, and ourselves. We knew the difference in being "polite" and "showing off"--behavior that earned us "the look." Because we were taught the proper way to act. We were expected to be "well-behaved" representatives of our family. Sometimes we even succeeded.
When I listen to the casually insulting conversations around me today or the bombastic, self-parodying, self-absorbed incivility of television commentary, I can only reach one conclusion.
Their mamas must have failed miserably.
No comments:
Post a Comment