Yesterday, Father's Day, I participated in my favorite Sunday activity, BRUNCH. This little ritual keeps me sane in the winter and is a welcome event in the summer. I am one of those people that prefer the company of others but will do anything alone if no company is available...yesterday was one of those alone days.
I bellied up to the bar at my neighborhood watering hole and ordered the bottomless mimosas and omlette. I then commenced to reading the Sunday paper...my favorite Brunchtime activity. I always look forward to the Post and Courier's Ken Burger's column. This Sunday's column was especially heartwarming. It tied into Father's Day perfectly and I want to share part of it:
"Every time I left the house, my mother used to hollar out the back door for me to 'be sweet', no matter where I was going. Those two simple words summarized my parents' expectations for my behavior. I was supposed to conduct myself at all times in a manner that not only relected well on them but myself and everybody my family. I was expected to be nice to everybody, regardless of color, age, or position in the world.
I knew to address people in a pleasant tone, open doors for ladies [doesn't necessarily apply to me], to respect my elders, to watch out for younger children, to be on time, to be presentable, to look both ways before crossing the street, and to speak in complete sentences.
Yes sir and yes ma'am were integral parts of my vocabulary. I didn't talk back [or I meet dire consequences]. I spoke when spoken to. I played fair. I didn't say bad words in public [a vice, as an adult, I am working on]. I stayed awake in church. I minded my manners at the table. And I never, ever thought of arguing with my daddy.
Maybe if I'd been raised somewhere else by different parents I'd be a totally different person.
Maybe I'd be tougher, meaner, more conniving, less trustworthy, more self-centered, sneakier, more suspicious, and somehowbetter prepared to deal with the harsh realities of life.
Maybe I wouldn't care what other people thought of me, or if they got a fair deal, or even if they lived or died.
Maybe I'd think of only myself, disregarding other's needs, trash somebody's reputation in order to improve my own, lie when it suited my needs, or ignore other people's feelings because they really don'tmatter.
Or perhaps I'd drive like I was the only one on the highway, believing my destination was more important than all those other people doing the speed limit and driving defensively, because of people like me.
Maybe I'd interrupt people when they were talking, not pay attention to someone when they tried to explain something, or belittle someone because they were physically or mentally different.
Personally I feel sorry for people like that. I guess their mothers never told them to 'be sweet', two little words that can make all the difference in life"
See why I enjoy Brunch?
I bellied up to the bar at my neighborhood watering hole and ordered the bottomless mimosas and omlette. I then commenced to reading the Sunday paper...my favorite Brunchtime activity. I always look forward to the Post and Courier's Ken Burger's column. This Sunday's column was especially heartwarming. It tied into Father's Day perfectly and I want to share part of it:
"Every time I left the house, my mother used to hollar out the back door for me to 'be sweet', no matter where I was going. Those two simple words summarized my parents' expectations for my behavior. I was supposed to conduct myself at all times in a manner that not only relected well on them but myself and everybody my family. I was expected to be nice to everybody, regardless of color, age, or position in the world.
I knew to address people in a pleasant tone, open doors for ladies [doesn't necessarily apply to me], to respect my elders, to watch out for younger children, to be on time, to be presentable, to look both ways before crossing the street, and to speak in complete sentences.
Yes sir and yes ma'am were integral parts of my vocabulary. I didn't talk back [or I meet dire consequences]. I spoke when spoken to. I played fair. I didn't say bad words in public [a vice, as an adult, I am working on]. I stayed awake in church. I minded my manners at the table. And I never, ever thought of arguing with my daddy.
Maybe if I'd been raised somewhere else by different parents I'd be a totally different person.
Maybe I'd be tougher, meaner, more conniving, less trustworthy, more self-centered, sneakier, more suspicious, and somehowbetter prepared to deal with the harsh realities of life.
Maybe I wouldn't care what other people thought of me, or if they got a fair deal, or even if they lived or died.
Maybe I'd think of only myself, disregarding other's needs, trash somebody's reputation in order to improve my own, lie when it suited my needs, or ignore other people's feelings because they really don'tmatter.
Or perhaps I'd drive like I was the only one on the highway, believing my destination was more important than all those other people doing the speed limit and driving defensively, because of people like me.
Maybe I'd interrupt people when they were talking, not pay attention to someone when they tried to explain something, or belittle someone because they were physically or mentally different.
Personally I feel sorry for people like that. I guess their mothers never told them to 'be sweet', two little words that can make all the difference in life"
See why I enjoy Brunch?
