Me and Sweetcheeks
When I was a kid my mother drilled manners into me. Every night, we sat down together as a family for dinner, and I was required to treat the meal like I was dining with the queen. No music, no TV, sit up straight, use the proper fork, make conversation, and do. Not. Chew. With. Your. Mouth. Open.
One of the longest running fights between my parents concerns the proper way to eat pasta. My father says you take a bite a look down to be polite, and my mom thinks that looking down at your plate while eating pasta is next to greed on the list of deadly sins. I think they’re both crazy, and yet I have never ordered pasta at an important meal. THE CONFUSION IS OVERWHELMING.
I was not a rebellious child, but I hated my mother’s manners lessons. And I only use the word hate because they have not yet made a stronger word to describe how much I resented my mother at dinner time. I didn’t understand why it mattered which fork I used or why I could eat until everyone at the table was served. Especially at family dinners, who really gives a crap?
In my “rebellious” years, my mother bought me an etiquette book for Christmas. The look on my face when I opened the present my face was a combination between terror and spite and just a little bit of surprise. I spent the whole day looking through it, especially 500 pages on wedding etiquette, and thinking that most of what was said was just common sense. YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T SCRIBBLE “ME AND SWEETCHEEKS 4 LYFE” ON CONSTRUCTION PAPER AND CALL IT A WEDDING? My romantic future is ruined.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that my natural charm and perfect table manners came effortless to me because of my mother’s lessons. On countless first dates, when meeting my friend’s parents, and even at a dinner with my potential employer, I come off as polished, easy going, and professional. I don’t have to worry about thinking about the proper way to act, and I can focus on conversation and comfort. It’s actually awesome.
