One of the nice things about blogging is the mail I get. For some reason I don't get hate mail. That seems to be saved for the comments, and y'all see how I have been set off lately by them. Every now and then I get sumpin' that I think has been written very well and I post it. The following essay is from Gunner in Tennessee.
People seek to find enlightenment in all the wrong places. They seek it on a mountain, in a temple, looking at a sand garden, or have it delivered by UPS in the form of the crystal, pyramid, or fung sui item that is the latest fad. I was lucky in many ways. I started to find enlightenment before I had even gotten to the first grade.
For a child there are many things that define reality. One is home, another is entertainment, and another is food. The need to consume it and enjoy it. Why do you think the most lovable photos of you as a child is when you are covered in food and holding the peanut butter/jam/chocolate syrup container. The next would be the bowl on the head, but I digress.
For me in the early 70's, before fiber and health defined and destroyed breakfast, I partook in a daily sacramental-like experience called cereal. Cereal is not just stuff in a bowl covered with milk. Oh no. Cereal is an art form for a child. It is important to get each step right, and enjoy it all. It was a truly fulfilling moment in my day.
For me it went like this. You start with the bowl. Mine was always an old plastic butter bowl. When mom finished the butter or spread in it, it became household dishware. But for me it was "The cereal bowl" Next to the bowl was the glass for milk. This was the cheap thin glass with tacky green artwork on it that you got for a fill up at the local gas station. Much of our glassware was that. Look at it wrong and it would break, so the number in the house never really grew to a large number. The only alternative to the gas station glass was the jam jar. Built to last, these stayed with us for a while. The thick ridge running around the top for the lid gave it structure that kept it from breaking long after the gas station glass gave way, always events defined by mom yelling "don't walk in here" whenever the sound of breaking glass occurred.
In the center of the table were three items. One was another butter bowl. This one with a well-defined duty. It carried sugar, but not any sugar, no no. It carried sugar mixed with cinnamon. Next to it was a butter bowl. The only one on the table that carried in it the item it was made for. Yes BUTTER. Now the toast that was buttered from this bowl would be held over the sugar-cinnamon bowl. In an act that was rushed for one reason. You never ever let the toast absorb all the butter before you spoon the mixture onto it...That way you could double or even triple the sugar mix that stuck to the bread. Bread had this horrible knack of absorbing the butter and leaving little to capture the mix of sugar thus leaving you with only a light dusting instead of a putty like coating to crunch through when you ate it. This was cinnamon toast. Only two were allowed (you might be able to sneak a third) but it was good.
Now cereal back then was fiberless, sugar coated, and bad for you in every way possible. So of course our bodies craved it like an addict in withdrawal. Cereal came in many types but the ones with color I liked the best.
So I would then fill up the bowl. To the rim it went. Now also on the table was a sugar bowl, unmixed with anything but pure sugar goodness. This I pull to me and commence to spoon in spoon after spoon. A good amount was always proper. Too much and mom got onto you. Too little and it would be only so so. This was followed by the milk.
This process occurred two times. Three if mom was in a good mood. And each time a little more sugar was added with milk, till after the last bowl you had the offering.
The milk in the bowl has changed. Now it was more then the parts, the milk, the sugar, and the remnants of the cereal coloring it. This colored milk had achieved something that no factory could reproduce. Under the surface was the sugar laying like mud in the bottom of the bowl waiting to be stirred up to deliver itself to you. At this point you took your spoon and stirred briskly to break the sugar up and spread it evenly through the milk. It would not do to drink the milk and end up with much of the sugar lying on in the bottom of the bowl, lost, uneaten. Then you bring the bowl up to your face and drink it down. The sugar so thick you feel it flow over your tongue like sand and stick to the walls of your mouth for a time later. This sacrament of youth. A perfect way to start your day refreshed.
But one day my cereal gave me an insight into the world that I did not like. It stays in the back of my head and whispers to me every once in a while.
My dad had company over and they had stayed the night. So the table was more crowded then normal. But breakfast still occurred as it always would. When the bowls of cereal were done. I swished it around and raised it to my face and was about to drink from it when my dad said, "don't do that, it’s not polite". I remember wondering what the heck he was talking about. This little thing I had done for all my youth. What changed? Why was it wrong that day? He then said the words that, for me taught me a large lesson; "we have company". I then realized what he meant. When people are around you have to act differently. I sat there and as instructed emptied the bowl out one small spoonful at a time, somehow it tasted wrong and I knew I did not like it.
I did not understand all of what happened there that day. It took a while to figure it out. To understand the enlightenment that occurred. Why must we act differently around other? Show people who we are. People are so fast to say "judge me as I am" but then they will not show the world what they are.
So I try in my life to show people me, to be honest and when I show caring, it means I care, and when I drink from the bowl at my house, I drink because that is me. - Gunner from Tennessee
Now, Gunner, please do not take this wrong, but I'm gonna add just a little bit to this. I fully believe that we should show our real selves to others, but, there are some parts that we should keep to ourselves. And there are some standards we should adhere to. And this is where manners come in.
For example, as I type this, I am sitting at my computer wearing underpants and a polo shirt. I may even decide to scratch a certain part of my anatomy. Is this the real me? Well, yeah. Do I want to share this with others? No, not really. That is why we have rules in society. And that is why your father thought that you drinking from the bowl, (And did you ever nail that. Talk about memories from childhood. I did the same thing.), even though it was the real you, was something that he thought you should not display to others. Would you do this at a restaurant?
Manners are rules that our parents (should) teach us so we can interact with society. "Get your elbows off the table!" "Don't eat with your fingers!" "Don't talk with your mouth full!" I live alone, so I drink right out of the milk carton. That's the real me, but if I have company, I use a glass.
In my previous post on rules, Elizabeth commented:
I agree with you, Addison, wholeheartedly. Didn't Heinlein once state, "Courtesy is the lubricant that keeps us from knifing each other?" At least that's the way I remember it. More people should, too.
Elizabeth, if you ever want to get on my good side, just state anything from Heinlein's philosophy. What I wouldn't have given to have spent an evening with that man. I guess in a way I have, since I've read everything he has written.
MonkeyPants, just made it onto my A-list of commenters by coming up with the exact quote:
Moving parts in rubbing contact require lubrication to avoid excessive wear. Honorifics and formal politeness provide lubrication where people rub together. Often the very young, the untravelled, the naive, the unsophisticated deplore these formalities as "empty," "meaningless," or "dishonest," and scorn to use them. No matter how "pure" their motives, they thereby throw sand into the machinery that does not work too well at best.
Lazarus Long in “Time Enough For Love”
How did he do that? Man I love blogging!
Gunner is right that we should show as much of the real us to others, but there are some parts that should remain hidden, like me in my underwear, sitting in front of my computer, scratching myself.
Oh crap! I just farted!
Posted by denny at May 12, 2003 08:54 PM