The Problem with Manners

I grew up in a household where manners were weaponized as tools of control. If you have spent much time with any children, you will know that for most, proper etiquette does not come naturally. Children are curious and excitable creatures, with bounds of energy I remain jealous of it as an adult. It's normal for kids to accidently get loud about something that strikes fascination. It's normal for them to rush through questions about things without much thought to how they are asking them. It's normal for them to get distracted or simply forget the rules of etiquette. And, the curiosity and energy that spawns this in them is not a bad thing.

To raise a kid well takes a great heap of patience and time. It takes gentle corrections and an investment in showing rather than telling. It means taking the time to actually evaluate if your rules are helping your child or just there for yourself.

I am energic by most adult standards, so it takes no stretch of the imagination to envision what a wild child I was. I loved to talk as fast as I could string together thoughts (which usually was not fast enough). I loved to run and bounce and fidget all over the place. My feet and hands needed something to do at all times, and my legs often ached with restlessness. But, the moment I left the safety of home with my father or for school, this would all drop. My teachers and most of my childhood peers would tell you I am a quiet person. Introverted even. That I stay in a corner and read a book or write poems. The truth was, I needed something to entertain my mind that could preoccupy me so that moving and talking were not needed. I would fidget sure, but for the most part I could sit still and focus.

This was brought on by father's insistence that I be perfect at all times, least I embarrass him. Least I suffer the punishment. Least I never be allowed to leave the house. Least I be spanked, have my hair yanked, yelled at, or forced to repeat an action an arbitrary number of times. Manners were of the utmost importance to him.

No feet on furniture of any kind. Oh, the culture shock I suffered when I realized most ordinary people relax in their homes with their feet on the couch. Or prop them on a small table to watch TV. Not my household. They were always to be on the floor.

Posture was a big stickler. Failure to maintain proper stature at the dinner table would be exclusion to visiting my grandparents for lunch or dinner. I remember having to practice pretend eating one afternoon with my neck tied to the back of the chair. Even walking with proper posture mattered to him. He would hand me one to two books and have me walk around the house with them to improve. I will admit, this was a request I quite enjoyed. It was fun to see if I could and for how long. Books tend to like to wobble and slide. Once he proffered a spoon instead and insisted it should be able to balance on my nose. I never managed the spoon but mastered the books. As a party trick of sorts, I would balance a cup of water on my head while walking up stairs, climbing atop a bench, riding a bike, or swinging. Everyone was always quite impressed. Throughout my time at college, I would cross campus with my sketchbook perched atop my head. A peculiar habit, but it kept the book safe and my hands free.

Did you know, when visiting others, it is rude to stay for more than an hour? Thirty minuets would be better advised. On the contrary, when you host, you should never ask your guest to leave, but always provide them with opportunities so they do not have to find a reason to excuse themselves.

At the dinner table, only one hand should ever be above the table unless you are actively using two utensils. The plate should also always be one inch from the edge of the table. And a trick I never learned, the knife should be used for cutting with the left hand when your dominant hand is your right. Oh, and for the longest time, I ate spaghetti with a fork and a spoon. There are many other odd rules for the table, and consumption of food. I still use a knife to push food unto my fork far "a fork is not a shovel". And, I wait until others have had the chance for seconds before I get them myself. Oh, and I only add additional seasonings after I have already tasted everything on my plate, least I offend the cook.

Speech was its own complicated basket of rules. May asks permission and can asks capability. "Pardon?" or "Sir/Ma'am?" instead of "what?". If one was feeling talkative, you might say, "Could you please repeat that?". Naturally "yes sir/ma'am" and "no sir/ma'am" riddled my speech. And, "right" was only to be used as a direction whereas "correct" an affirmation. There are other things, I am sure. But they escape me until a situation arises that triggers my default mode. Then all formalities slip into place as if someone hit factory reset on me.

I had a speech impediment and talked way too fast to be understood most of the time. So, I spent hours practicing my speech and pronunciation over and over again. Mind you, my father had a southern accent so I had a southern accent. It seems silly now to worry over proper pronunciation when we said "dowg" instead of "dog". Honestly, all of my og words came out with a w, just like my father. Speech therapy might have been a good option for me, though the hours of practice did work.

One day, after watching My Fair Lady, father became inspired and had me recite the alphabet over and over with a mouthful of marbles while sitting straight atop a stool away from things that may distract me. He adored that movie, and repeated many of the exercises in it on me. I cannot say that they helped. But, I can still recite the speech phrases from the film with great gusto. He had another fun practice should I say the wrong thing, he would have me write a sentence with the correct word over and over again. Sometimes 30 times, sometimes 100. It really depended upon his mood. Pray you never had to ask how to spell a word. Though, I do appreciate that he taught every single child of his how to use a dictionary.

I opened and closed doors an assigned number of times as well. Practiced sitting instead of "flopping". Practiced walking softly. Practiced entering and existing the table properly. After all, one should be graceful and their chair never scrape or drag across the floor. In public or when meeting new people, I did not speak unless spoken to. I would never walk between individuals having a conversation. If that spanned across an entire hallway, I would stop and wait at a respectful distance. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back or in front of me, least I fidget.

I walked behind father, never beside. I was courteous, aware, and alert. I had a game I would play where I counted my mistakes any time I went somewhere with father. He would angrily point them out. I was thrilled the day I had only three but still sad that I had had made any. I never did better than that day.

My siblings went through a similar routine. Though they did not struggle with pronunciation or pacing for speech. And, both were naturally quiet so never had to worry that they talked too much or too loud. Father was the western epitome of manners and polite charm, at least publicly, and so where each of his children.

I suppose it is only natural that I have a great aptitude for professionalism. And, to their credit, so do my siblings. We are quite the bunch if you gather us in a room of mostly strangers. Our manners will make us stick out like a sore thumb, and if we did not already look alike, you would certainly recognize us as cut from the same piece of cloth. I will not say that this professionalism has not helped me in my career or in interviews, but it has never been what got me a promotion or job. My skillset and ability to network, learn, and convey those things have been what has helped me succeed in my climb. And, a bit of sheer luck.

Socially, the manners have not done much more that elicit teasing or questions. It has even at times made others uncomfortable or suddenly aware of themselves. If the majority of society eats their spaghetti with a fork and you are over here requesting a spoon, brows will raise. People will feel walled off by your language and often ask you to drop the formalities. At least, in American culture. But, it is quite difficult to drop default mode any time I meet someone new or join a crowd.

And, truthfully, etiquette is all made up. It varies from culture to culture and differing regions of the world. Heck, in the US it even varies from state to state. I do think respect and honoring customs is important. I would not argue against it. But, does hammering it into a child really teach them how to observe and offer respect? Mind you, I am a Millennial raised by a man from the Silent Generation. More traditional of a Millennial, my mother is is from Gen X.

But what do I actually use from these rules? I have found most people do not want to be referred to as sir and ma'am. In fact, I am usually asked to stop doing it. And as we have become a more gender aware society, defaulting to sir or ma'am can be hurtful and lead to miss-gendering. I have done my best to drop it far it is not my goal to invalidate someone's experience and identity. Plus, only the older southern generation values such titles. I find answering with a full sentence or using the person's name to fit much better into modern politeness. And, it feels more personal.

No one, and I truly mean no one, cares if you say can instead of may. Maybe a few people take note if you say you are "doing good" instead of "doing well". Those few are likely English majors. If you want to leave a strong impression about your day, I recommend actually telling about something that happened or you did instead of the obligatory two-three word responses.

No one cares if I do any of things my father drilled into us. Even "you're welcome" has changed to responses like "no problem" or "my pleasure" for my generation. Most people do not observe themselves the things he hammered into his kids. Rather than teach us and encourage us to use judgment and the appropriate level of manners for the situation, we were forced into a rigid set of rules and awarded punishment when we inevitably failed. We were children. Children are going to naturally be energetic, wild, curious, and forgetful of most manners. They are children. They need gentle reminders and excited affirmation. Otherwise, you are just creating a robot.

Manners are situational, and children should be taught that. Manners should be evaluated. I default to manners even in situations of sexual harassment. I should not be polite to people that are actively harassing me or being rude. But because it's a stranger, that switch flips and I am. It always worsens the problem. Thankfully, I have been unlearning it bit by bit and through practice. Remember, perfectly polite children almost never tattle when an adult is doing something wrong.

We would raise more considerate humans if we taught them to listen to how others want to be spoken to, rather than instill in them that how we want to be addressed (which is usually taught to us by our own parents) is how they should address everyone. And why are we teaching children that being loud and curious, wiggling and running, are bad things? That excitement should be curated to acceptable levels. That the appearance of perfection in actions is a must. They will fail every time. They will never be perfect and possibly inherit a wealth of mental health issues from it.

My ability to walk with books upon my head is nothing more than a party trick. Yet I could not go anywhere if I was not sitting and walking straight. I was spanked over how I worded things. And, the words I used were not hurtful words, just not the correct ones. Let your children be children. Let them not conform every second of the day to rigid rules they will only have to unlearn to fit in. A child needs gentle guidance and good examples to become a respectful and loving adult. And they need to know when another person does not warrant their politeness.

You see, I have all of these manners, things I devoted hours to developing and many memories of punishment. Time and energy that could have been spent on building me up and creating fond memories. Instead, it is so built in that I correct myself at times. And for what? Most days I tuck them away into a box or fight the urge to do them. After all, who is going to notice if my knife is in my right hand or left?