September 18th, 2006
Apropos of Nothing
I guess I’m tired of so much hitting the heavy bag lately, because here’s another fluff piece for you. Have you ever had the experience of asking someone to do something that seems completely normal and reasonable to you (and to the rest of polite society, you think), and they just don’t get it? They’re not even being facetious, like, “What do you mean you don’t want me to clean the grime from under my toenails with the butter knife?” They’re just all, hunh? And then, you know, to emphasize how much they don’t get it, they have to earnestly ask for details, or check with you on everything remotely related from then on: “So would it be okay if I used a fork instead?” or “Hey, hon, can I use the butter knife to butter my toast?” Because your request was just so weird that they can’t grasp what else might violate your oh-so-strange and probably oversensitive boundaries.
Oh please, let me give you an example. Once, when I lived in my hometown, which was one town over from where my mother was then living, she came by the apartment unexpectedly. Now, my mother, having been a kindergarten teacher for many years, has a really bad case of what I call Teacher Syndrome. (Sorry to all my friends who are teachers, but Beware. Don’t Let This Happen To You.) Teacher Syndrome is the result of having a daily captive audience that is strongly discouraged from interrupting you, leading to the unconscious belief that your friends and others you routinely come in contact with should likewise want to hear you expound at length on whatever thought comes into your mind at any given moment—and also that they shouldn’t be talking unless you call on them. Combine this with the daily reality of being the person in power in your classroom and you may manifest an attitude that whatever you do, no matter how strange or socially unacceptable, is just fine, because no one in your daily life ever challenges anything you feel like doing. Victims of Teacher Syndrome frequently lose touch with basic social skills like listening to others and not interrupting (even though they are affronted at being interrupted themselves). The kindergarten version is especially fun, as it incorporates the habit of frequently stating inanities such as “Look at those beautiful puffy white clouds!” and the assumption that other people need your help and guidance to perform mundane tasks such as closing the car door or zipping up their coats.
So, anyway, my poor socially challenged mother dropped by unexpectedly one day. She walked in the door without knocking, walked through the kitchen, through the living room, and into the farthest back back room of our place, where my then-girlfriend and I were both sitting in various states of undress. She walked up to each of us in turn and gave us a big hug.
Okay. Now maybe in some families, that’s a totally fine and appropriate thing to do, and I appreciate how warm and welcoming my mother has always been to my partners. I am just not that close with her that I want to get a naked hug from her, in the private interior of my apartment, and then watch her embrace my naked girlfriend as well. (Not to mention said girlfriend, from a much more formal, upper-middle-class family than I, was quite unnerved by the whole encounter.) So I said, very calmly and reasonably, “Hey, Mom, when you come by, would you knock on the door, and then wait until we come to answer it?” And she was seriously, honestly confused, like, “What are you talking about?” Knock and wait until we come to the door. We might be having sex or taking a dump, for crying out loud. So we have our little visit, and as she’s leaving she turns to me and says, “So tell me again what you want me to do when I come over?”
Cripes.
