Thou Shall Not Be Left-Handed at the Dinner Table

Absolute control and domination

My brother is left-handed.  And when we were very young, before our parents thought that it was appropriate to teach table manners, he held his fork in his left hand.  As all left-handed people do.

But this, our father just could not abide.  So as our parents introduced table manners and etiquette more generally, one very strict rule was that we eat with our right hand.  Our father was absolutely fine if the kid was left-handed in every other way.  But by God, that kid was going to eat with his right hand.

And we were even given an explanation, of sorts, as to why this was so important.  You see, when my father was a boy, he and his brother sat next to each other at the dinner table.  And as his brother is also left-handed, the two of them banged elbows at every meal.

And in his wisdom, my father's solution to this intolerable problem, is that everyone must eat with his right hand.  Problem solved.

Well, it is problem solved if you do not mind being a tyrant.

It was only years later that I asked myself, I wonder why his parents, my grandparents, did not simply allow their two sons to switch seats?  In fact, why did they not insist on it?  Surely that would have been the simple solution, right?

Yet, not only did my grandparents not do this, but this solution was also lost on my father.  Can you just imagine?

So even today, my brother eats with his right hand.  And of course, at this point it is no big deal.  I'm sure his wife must think of it as a charming family idiosyncrasy.  But she will never know the coercion involved.

Anyway, the point of this decades old story is, why?  My parents are not stupid people.  There can be no doubt whatsoever that they knew the obvious solution of switching seats.  Same with my grandparents; they knew.

So why did they not have their two boys switch seats?  And a generation later, why did my parents insist on their children only eating with their right hand?

It would be different if we were talking about really stupid people.  Or perhaps superstitious people.  Or people with some silly long-held tradition.  But none of that, or anything like that, applies.  Surprisingly enough, they were not adhering to some ancient hadith of Muhammad.

No, this was a choice made by highly intelligent and educated people.  And one must ask why?

And the unfortunate answer is this:  Absolute control and domination.  You will do it my way or else.  Their mantra was:  Because I said so.  It was a power trip.  Can you imagine being so insecure that you forced your left-handed child to eat with his right hand in order to satisfy your own narcissism?

I can still see my brother, sitting there at the end of the table, with no one to his left.  Even now, all these decades later, I wish I had the courage to say:  The kid is left-handed; leave him alone, you absolute bully.  But I would have been beaten for such an outburst.

While this episode is far from the worst of my parents' behavior, it does illustrate a childhood dynamic between my brother and myself:  Thank God it is not me ...this time.  I can only wish that we had gone down a different path and been more supportive of each other.  Maybe we could have been close; maybe we would be friends today.  Same for my sister.

Here, for lack of a better place, I want to make two points concerning my siblings.  One, as the oldest, my memory extends further back than theirs.  And two, my parents did become relatively better (less awful) at the burden of childrearing as time went by.  That is to say, my siblings did not suffer as much as I did.  Thankfully.

Perhaps this explains their forgiveness.  I too forgave our parents for many years, so it is certainly understandable.  But the consequences of our parents' misbehavior have been unevenly distributed.  I never expected my siblings to follow my path; but I had hoped that they would acknowledge the reality of our childhood and at the very least affirm it.

I still hope for this.

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Parental Comportment

Be careful with children

If you cannot bring the necessary level of care and comportment to the mission and responsibility of raising children, best not to attempt it.

I really have no patience for anyone who says, Well times have changed.  Or parenting has changed.  This is just common sense.  If you do not want to behave properly with children, fine.  Just don't have them.

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Vanity Children

Here’s a question for parents:  Are you proud of your children or proud of yourselves?

Sure, we can recognize the nuance here.  To some extent, it is natural to be proud of yourselves for the accomplishments of your children.  Yes honey, we did a good job raising our little Johnny.  But if one seeks accolades and admiration, or some other form of reputational advantage for oneself, because of the accomplishments or behavior of one’s child, then one ventures into the realm of vanity.

Let’s define the concept of vanity children.  I could not find an adequate definition, so I have created my own:

vanity children (noun)

Children produced for the vanity of their parents; or to enhance the reputation of their parents.  These parents want to improve their own standing, with their friends and family and within the community at large, by the behavior and accomplishments of their children.  In the extreme, these parents may not even want children, but nevertheless have them so that the children can confirm the self-worth of the parents and make the parents look good.  The children are used to make a statement about the parent's worth and morality.  Just look at the behavior and accomplishments of our children; clearly we are better people than you.

As a boy, my father was a boy scout.  But his family moved frequently and he was never able to attain the rank of Eagle Scout.  Well, he made damn sure that his two sons became Eagle Scouts.  We can debate the merits of scouting.  But whatever its merits, make no mistake about it, my father wanted those Eagles, not for his sons, but for himself.  They fulfilled his need for accomplishment.  And they were good for his reputation.  Ultimately, they served his vanity.

I have never told anyone that I am an Eagle Scout.  It is not my accomplish- ment.  That Eagle does not belong to me.  Not really.  It belongs to my father.  And he is so very proud of it.

While scouting is a good example, it is fairly benign.  I have written here about my parents' demand for preternatural behavior and obedience.  And the extreme lengths that they went to achieve these desires – I consider it child abuse.  And while there were a number of factors which led to their behavior, concern for their reputation was very important.

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Better Offer

I grew up in a small town in rural North Carolina.  These were pre-internet days, and small-town life was not very exciting.  But my grandparents lived just south of Chicago.  And every so often when they would come see us, or even on the phone, my grandfather would say, next time you come up to see us, we'll go see the White Sox play.  Well we could hardly be described as a sports-oriented family, but hey, a Major League Baseball game was high excitement for my brother and me.  We must have been six and seven at the time.  Something like that anyway.

Soon enough we did visit them.  And so it came to pass that my grandfather secured four tickets to see a White Sox game.  Nose-bleed tickets, but who cared?  It was my grandfather, my father, his son-in-law, and my brother and myself.  Now my father would rather have had a colonoscopy than sit through a baseball game.  But much to his chagrin, when we got to Chicago, he learned that my grandfather had purchased four tickets rather than three.  So politeness demanded that he had to go too.

We drove into the city from their little town, found parking, and headed towards the stadium.  And almost at the gates, some fellow, a complete stranger, comes up to us and says, Hey, I have an extra box seat ticket that I cannot use.  Do you want it?  Very kind of course.  But he had one box seat ticket.  And again, there were four of us.

Now let's stop right here and ask:  What would be the response of any normal person?

But if my family was normal, we would not be here, reader or writer.  So my grandfather, without so much as a look in our direction, says, Man-oh-man, that's great, thanks so much!  Then after the fellow trotted off, he turns to my father to rather disingenuously discuss how they would use this unexpected windfall.

So, my father and brother and I went off to watch the ball game, together, in the cheap seats.  And my grandfather went off in another direction, to watch the game from the best seats in the house, with strangers.

To this day, it is the only MLB game that I have ever attended.
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The Great Bear Hunt

I have an 18-month-old niece in need of a teddy bear.  So I thought that would make a great Christmas present, maybe even starting a trend of being the uncle with the cool presents.  Okay, that’s a stretch, but one can aspire to greatness, right?

So like every other major purchase, I begin my quest for the perfect teddy bear online.  I first visit the venerable Vermont Teddy Bear.  Let me say, they have terrific stuff.  But while perusing their site, I learned two things.  One, an 18-month-old does not need a fancy bear dressed up as a firefighter or a surgeon.  No, I was looking for high quality, but basic.  And two, I realized right away that I was not going to be able to make this purchase online – I needed to feel it and eyeball the height and weight, etc.  I needed to put my hands on it before I bought it.  A teddy bear is not like a book or airline tickets.  A bear requires a personal interview.

Now I have little experience with kids, and even less with toys.  So I email a friend and ask for help.  Her sage advice is to visit a store called Build-A-Bear where kids can create a bear and build it right there in the store.  It’s an excellent concept.  My friend says, Your niece gets the bear of her dreams and you get to spend time with her.  My friend even offers to play tour guide.  I think she realized how out of my depth I truly was and took pity on me.

Well I thought about this for a while.  And I came to the conclusion that my niece is a bit young to appreciate the Build-A-Bear concept.  They are a lot like Vermont Teddy Bear – Both retailers really sell specialty bears – and I’m still going for basic.  But my judgment in these matters is not to be trusted, so I call the mother-in-charge, my sister.  Yes, she knew of Build-A-Bear, but she agreed that her daughter is too young to appreciate it.

Later, I’m relaying this story to another friend, Vanna.  Now her step-mother has been in and out of the hospital recently battling cancer.  Vanna says, well to tell you the truth, the best teddy bears I’ve seen lately are found at hospital gift shops.  Sigh.

So yesterday, I set off, sans tour guide, on the great bear hunt.  First to Toys-R-Us.  It’s a week before Christmas, you can imagine the traffic.  I learned right away – Do not even think about beating a mother in a minivan to a decent parking space.  I parked next door and walked over.  Now, Toys-R-Us had a limited selection of stuffed animals of dubious distinction.  Evidently, low-tech toys are not in this year.  It took more time to find the aisle than it did to realize the parking battle had been for naught.

My next idea was Disney.  I remember years ago visiting a Disney store with Winnie-the-Pooh in various sizes.  Hell, I did not even know if Disney stores were still around.  But, I know a guy and I made a call – And while sitting in the car outside of the Toys-R-Us, the Verizon operator connected me with our one local Disney store.  So I abandoned the big boxes and headed for the mall.

The traffic went from terrible to miserable.  But what the heck, I had decided to make a day of it.  And, I actually scored a better parking space at the mall than I had at Toy-R-Us.  It was a good sign, right?  Truth-be-told, I was feeling pretty confident at this point – I had a plan:  A destination and a target.  Pooh would be perfect.

Turns out, the Disney store is right next to Build-A-Bear.  No kidding.  And, I’m thinking this is childs play.  So I march in and immediately spy the stuffed animals at the back of the store.  Well, turns out Pooh comes in two sizes:  Too big and too small.  And decidedly not, just right.  Okay, I think, this is not a problem, I’ll just go with too big and be done with it.  Ah, but I don’t see any.  So I ask a store associate to point me to the big Poohs – And it’s a week before Christmas and they are sold out.  They are OUT!  Will you get more?  We never know.  Where’s the next nearest store?  An hour and a half away.  Should I just go with too small?  No, that did not meet my very important goal of being the uncle with the cool presents.  So my Pooh idea died right there in the Disney store.

But on the bright side – I’m parked and in a huge mall.  Surely, there’s the perfect teddy bear here somewhere.  First, I hit the Build-A-Bear next door.  It’s everything my friend said it was and perfect for what it is.  But unfortunately, it’s not what I need.  I long for my tour guide.  So I start wandering the mall.  The store associate at Disney told me that Sears has some Disney products – so I head in that direction.  On the way, I keep a sharp eye out for bears.  I remembered someone saying Godiva Chocolate has cute bears.  I pass one on my way to Sears, and they do – Too small.

Anyway, the Sears’ Disney products are inferior to the Disney store’s Disney products.  Duh.  So, I venture to Macy’s.  Now Macy’s has only one bear, but it's perfect – truly.  It also happens to be the most expensive one I saw all day.  But alas – Too small.  Brooks Brothers has bears (who knew?), but not basic.

I stop for coffee.  Now, I don’t often shop in malls, but I can see why people do.  It’s lovely actually.  Crowded of course, but a retailing Mecca.  Again I long for my tour guide.  I wander around for another hour or so, but no luck in the bear hunt.

Finally, crestfallen, I abandon the mall and my lovely parking space.  By this time, it’s later in the day, and traffic has gone from miserable to catastrophic.  I decide to sneak out the back of the mall parking lot and return to my office the back way.

Now it just so happens that the back way from Crabtree Valley Mall to my office goes right past Rex Hospital.  And it’s Rex where Vanna’s step-mother has been battling cancer.  I know the family, but I have no idea whether she’s in the hospital.  But I’m here, and I’ll go see her if she is.  Free parking – At a hospital, hard to believe.  Anyway, I march up to the information counter and ask if she is there.  The lady at the counter consults her computer and says, no, but perhaps we’re spelling it wrong.  (Who stops into a hospital on a whim, right?)  No, I say, but since she’s not here, could you point me to the gift shop?  Now, the lady looks at me like I’m from another planet, but she manages to direct me to the shop.

And there, in the Rex Hospital gift shop, I find the perfect bear.  As I walk outside with my newfound treasure, it begins to snow.

Merry Christmas.
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