My parents were always a little out of touch. My father born in 1921 and my mother in 1932, they had married late in life and then had children even later. They did things their way and it was the way of a completely different era than we were living in.
When I went to my first sleepover, my mother took me to Sears to shop for a new outfit. I appeared at the sleepover in a pale rose colored chiffon peignoir with matching robe and slippers. My cheeks went hot and I began to feel queasy as I walked into the living room after changing. On the floor surrounded by sleeping bags, pillows and blankets were my contemporaries, all wearing oversized t-shirts and underpants. It dawned on me then that I had made a giant, terrible, fluffy pink mistake.
Later at college, after I moved out of dorms and into my own apartment. My mother came over to help me clean and prep to throw my first party. I made a light supper with stew and salad and had a choice of red or white wine. This was served on my own china and glassware. It was when I saw the faces of my college friends that I realized they weren’t used to this kind of entertaining. There wasn’t a solo cup or bowl of chips in sight. I was always out of step, but I was probably too dense to notice and luckily, I found friends who embraced my brand of kooky.
Sometimes I wished for “cool” parents. My friends had parents who were show-biz people. They entertained on the beach, had parties that felt like movie premieres and generally gave off an air of hipness. It took a long time to appreciate the formality and adherence to tradition that my parents followed: We still dressed up to go out to dinner. My dad bemoaned the people who turned up in shorts and a t-shirt to watch the opera. Oh yeah, did I mention we went to the opera? My friends went to see Bruce Springsteen with their parents, I got Tosca at the Music Center. Thing is, I secretly loved both worlds. I loved dressing up and listening to Placido Domingo or taking a picnic basket to the Hollywood Bowl to see Ella Fitzgerald just as much as I loved seeing Prince at the Forum or jumping in the mosh pit at a Suicidal Tendencies concert. I never really wanted to choose, but it took years before I realized that you didn’t have to.
*And yes, I understand how first world this all sounds. One thing, this was the 80s and we were solidly middle class. Dollars just went further back then. We could go to the opera for the equivalent price of modern day movie tickets. This is when I have to say that I feel like newer generations have been totally ripped off and deserve better.*
Some years after college, I ran into one of the girls I grew up with, she had been the embodiment of everything I had wished my life had looked like. She got to wear make-up in Jr. High. She was allowed to go on dates before she turned sixteen. I wasn’t even allowed to get my ears pierced until I turned sixteen, forget going out alone with boys. Her dad was a producer and her mom had modeled. They were sophisticated and sexy. Mine were tidy and stolid. She threw parties when her parents went out of town. I was lucky to be in a room by myself for an hour. She stopped me on the street to say how sorry she was that my father had passed away. She told me how jealous she’d been of how my parents had shown up to every event, never fought in public and had always seemed so steady. She’d lived through an ugly divorce and longed for some boundaries. The grass had been greener for her as well.
Being mannerly never meant being old fashioned to my parents, who were ahead of their time in many respects. They were people of science and gave great weight to logic, so they never held onto ideas, no matter how cherished, once they were proved wrong or ignoble. By the time my friend had approached me, I had begun to realize how important those old timey ways were. I missed my father’s calm dignity in a crisis, his gregarious warmth to everyone he met, and especially his willingness to give respect and kindness to every human being. Oh, I still loved glamour, I went into the entertainment industry myself, but I had realized that you can’t build deep relationships on sparkle.
Manners are the same, you can have it both ways. You can care about giving up your seat to an elderly person while still loving a good fart joke. You can be a ballsy badass in the boardroom and know how to stir your tea, (back and forth). Just have the courage when you find out something you do actually hurts someone else to change it. If a manner makes someone else feel less than, toss it. If you realize you went too far in tossing out the etiquette book and hurt someone’s feelings, say you’re sorry and don’t do it again. It’s easy really. My dad used to say that it wasn’t just that the grass wasn’t greener on the other side, the grass is all in your head, so just imagine yourself a bigger lawn.
I hope you and yours are well. We’re entering strange times and our collective kindness and compassion are more needed than ever. Much love, Cheri
