It was a popular saying when I was growing up. And for some reason, I can kind of figure out looking back, I was asked this a lot. It did not help that the house I grew up in was actually designed to replicate a Missouri barn. And that is what I would always think about when a grumpy adult was trying to get me to settle down. Children are rambunctious and have a level of energy we older folks covet but having said that manners still must be taught.
There are actually a multitude of books out there on how to teach children proper manners and etiquette. There is Raising Good Humans, 365 Manners Kids Should Know, Etiquette for Children, The Gift of Good Manners, Dude That's Rude, and on and on. It seems there is quite a market in the publishing industry teaching children how to act like they "were not raised in a barn." I never had such a book. My days of learning manners were largely based on trial and error.
Much of what we learned growing up was watching other people around us. And as I got older, I realized what was considered proper manners in one region was not so proper in another. When my son was working on the pipeline in Ohio, he was scolded by a woman (if scolded is a word a woman in Ohio would use) because he had referred to her as Mam'. She told him he was rude. And I told him to just stop being rude up there and when he got back home start being rude again because in the south Mam' still heavily applies.
Up north it is considered rude to talk to a stranger in an elevator. Down south it is rude not to strike up a conversation. Well, I would think that applies to a several-floor trip. It would seem rushed to try to say hello when you are just going up one floor. A minimum of three floors is conversation-worthy. Or so that is my unspoken rule of elevator etiquette in the south.
The other day I was meeting my husband to give our hugs and condolences to some loved ones having a wake for dear family member who had lived a wonderful long life. We had our five-year-old grandson with us because school was still out for the holidays. We explained to him what we were doing to prepare him for how to behave. He did a great job. He held his little bookmark that had been put out for visitors. He held our hands as we waited in the line held up by a lady who felt she had to stop and ask the life history of every person at the end of every pew. So, I waited for her next distraction to gently guide my two gentlemen around her conversation to move ahead.
But then, as any properly raised child who had not been read the books, but had watched and learned, shouted, "Cici! Get back in this line! You can't butt in a line! That's rude!"
At that it was established by friends and neighbors around that he indeed had funeral etiquette down unlike his impatient Cici. I was stuck in that, "We don't have to talk just going one floor up, and I don't have to say Mam' in Ohio, or wait for a lady who has to speak to everyone her eyes meet." But I got back in line with my little bookmark that had been put out for visitors and set the example of how to be polite when called out in public. And we waited. Maybe our grandson should write a book for his Cici who was obviously impatiently raised in a barn.
