Josna Rege

352. Parents Modeling Manners

In 2010s, Education, Family, Food, parenting, Stories on January 30, 2016 at 8:35 pm
Nag_Factor_web

(from wellbeing.com.au)

While out on Saturday errands with Mum this afternoon, I had the opportunity to witness three different parents modeling manners to their children, consciously or otherwise. In each case the parent was alone with one child; and in each case the child’s behavior mirrored the parent’s perfectly.

Our first errand was to pick up some take-out Chinese food for dinner. Mum negotiated the walk from the car to the restaurant and back like a good sport, though it was a bit of a rigmarole. On the way back out I had one hand full with the bag of food and the other one holding Mum’s, so I was happy to see a little girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, run up from behind us and hold the door open for us; I thanked her, and then heard her mother giving her quiet directions in a language I couldn’t readily recognize (Polish, perhaps, or Albanian?), after which she hurried back through the first door and opened the outer door as well. After thanking her again, I said to Mum in a voice loud enough for both mother and daughter to hear, “What a nice girl!”—at which she gave us a shy smile and skipped back to her mother’s side.

rsz_5d7a5851_grandeOn to our favorite small supermarket, which is usually ridiculously crowded on the weekends; but Mum doesn’t mind because she likes seeing all the children and babies. We only needed a couple of things, and when I saw the long lines at the checkout counters, I half-regretted having come, but it was too late. So we took our place in a queue and I hoped that the ice cream wouldn’t melt before we were through.

Parallel to us in the next line over was a dad with his son, also ten or eleven, I would guess, and a shopping cart loaded to overflowing with provisions. The father had just realized that he had forgotten a particular item, and was describing it to his son so that he could go and look for it. He was a foreigner or a new immigrant, I guessed, since he was speaking quietly in French to his son, who listened attentively and then darted away with a will, as if on a treasure hunt. While he was gone, his father was continually looking around, clearly a bit worried that the boy might be getting lost. He returned eventually, brandishing a packet of pre-made guacamole, but it turned out to be not quite the right one. It was the spicy variety, and Papa had wanted the plain; close, but no cigar, as Andrew’s Grandpa Victor used to say. So off went the boy again, while the father resumed his alert waiting.

Now came a third parent and child into the mix: a father with a girl-child, perhaps eight or nine. He stepped up behind the man with the overloaded shopping cart, and said to the girl, in a rather-too-loud voice, so that everyone in the vicinity could hear: “This looks like the shortest line—only an hour to wait, maybe two; unless you would rather put this back.” It could be seen that the little girl was in a fine fury, and that the only item they were purchasing was the bar of chocolate that she was clutching. The father was clearly just about out of patience with her, but she, just as clearly, had no intention of giving it up.

Of course the soft-spoken man with the overloaded shopping cart told the girl’s father that they could go on ahead of him, since they had only the one item. Without a word of thanks that I could hear, and certainly without a “Say thank you to the nice man who has offered to let you go through first,” the girl’s father gave her a five-dollar bill and instructions on where to stand, told her that he would be waiting up front for her, and promptly disappeared. Now the boy’s father was not only looking round anxiously for his son but also feeling compelled to keep an eye on the girl, whose face was screwed up into a fixed scowl, and brow beetled into a dark thundercloud.

(from The Berenstain Bears Get the Gimmies)                                                                    (from The Berenstain Bears Get the Gimmies)

The boy came back, this time with two packets of guacamole. Bingo! One was the right one, but the other needed to be returned, and since it was going to be a few minutes more before their turn came, Papa gave him one last errand to run. Off he went, without a murmur of complaint. Meanwhile Sulky Susan was waiting impatiently to get to the top of the line, and, without anyone on whom to vent her spleen, was getting furiouser and furiouser. Well before the checkout clerk had finished with the shopper in front of her, she was leaning in with both elbows on the counter, shoving her purchase and her money in front of him and scowling even more ferociously. The clerk was keeping his temper by studiously ignoring her, which, of course, only infuriated her still further. Dad was still nowhere to be seen, probably taking long draughts on a cigarette out in the parking lot.

(from healthyeating.org)

(from healthyeating.org)

At last the boy returned triumphant, bearing with him the special box of hot-chocolate preparation that his father had described. Rewarded with a loving high five from Papa, he took his place beside the cart just as they got to the top of the line. I didn’t see the reunion of father number two and darling daughter. Mum and I had got to the top of the line ourselves, and Mum had waited uncomplainingly all that time, just watching the world go by.

Gargoyles+Melancholy+of+Oxford+Garden+Wall+Decor

A couple of additional pieces of information, which may or may not be pertinent here: the French-speaking father and son were black, while the father-daughter duo were white Americans, the little girl a blonde who might have been pretty if it hadn’t been for the grimace, which made her look like a gargoyle.

IMG_3380If someone had offered me a place ahead of him in that long line today, I would have thanked him profusely and instructed my child to do the same. However, if she had been behaving as that girl was, I might have said, “Thanks a lot, it’s very kind of you, but I think we’ll wait our turn.” That would have modeled politeness and fair play, and might even have made her ask herself whether she really wanted that chocolate bar after all. But surely a thinking American could also have considered the recent history of his or her black compatriots being relegated to the back—the back of the line, of the class, of the bus—while whites took their place in front as a matter of course. What kind of manners was that father modeling to his child, who was likely to grow up taking her (white) privilege for granted, pouting her way to the top, and quite certain all the while that she was the one being hard done by.

Tell Me Another (Contents to Date)

Chronological Table of Contents

Advertisements
  1. Hi Josna. An interesting, well-written and beautifully illustrated story as usual. I would, also, have behaved as you suggest with regard to the chocolate bar/gargoyle incident! Hope you are having a good start to the year. Ex

    • Thank you, E., for your friendly feedback and good wishes. This was a story that simply demanded to be told. Just went to Undercover Mole and read the Christmas Eve post and the latest. Always so satisfying to catch up with Evangeline and her family. Here’s to your health: to exercise and to poetry! x J

  2. Standing in line is interesting if you can people watch. Especially when you can put it into the larger context so well, as you have done here.

    • Thank you, Kristin. I am still officially on break from my blog, but had to tell this story when I got home yesterday. Yes, people-watching is endlessly fascinating. Best wishes, J

  3. Bad manners is bad manners, and it takes a strong personality to buck the behaviour modelled by parents or promulgated by peer groups. Essentially it’s learnt bullying, and it takes an equally strong personality to firmly but politely challenge it — not something most of us are good at, sadly!

    • I agree, but a problem arises when the bad manners of one group is just normal behaviour for another. Unfortunately the well-mannered people are generally too polite to set the yahoos straight. Thank you for your comments; they’re always appreciated. J

  4. I think parent modeling is not a bad manner, since in India many person not allow this types of passion but this is Good habit to make their fitness.

  5. Josna, this is certainly a story that needed to be told and I’m glad you broke your blogcation to get this out to us.

    I’ve often felt that here in North America, parents seem to have given up on their children. They’ve given up their rights to their own children, to some nonsense about children’s identity, legal liabilities and nanny-state interference.

    As kids grow up, they need a framework of rules. Not hard rules, but they need to be told what’s done and what’s not. And most importantly, when and where those rules may be modified. Let me explain that last bit. How a child talks to his siblings, older or younger, may not be the best way to talk to a stranger, a teacher, or even their parents.

    Far too often, we see a set of hard rules being laid out and people, even adults, are given no incentive or encouragement to use good sound judgement.

    In my day job as a consultant who builds process frameworks I’ve seen time after time, organizations fail in making their staff follow their processes. And they can’t understand it. When I tell them, that one size DOES NOT fit all, they look at me as I’ve just said something profound. We’re just not being told to use our brains anymore.

    This starts in childhood now and is being carried on. ( Missed you, btw.)

    • Thank you! It’s nice to know I was missed (probably not nearly as much as I’ve missed both writing and receiving comments like yours). Yes, I agree: it’s so important to teach, and to model, firm but flexible guidelines for civil and courteous behavior in the world. I can’t claim to have modeled all the behavior I’ve tried to teach, though; and you’re right that everyone is different, and must make sense of the basic principles in their own way. Still, if we are shown them in childhood, we develop a yardstick, even an instinct for right action, something that used to be called a conscience. Best wishes, J

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: