Hatred

The voice that left the message was course and vile. "Ain't none of your business how I'm registered . . . I'd never vote for a Democrat, they're all crooked and stupid . . . Don't ever send anything to me again."  

Really?  This in response to a friendly, straightforward Get-out-the-Vote letter that my daughter and I sent to fellow Durham Democrats in our neighborhood.

So it's okay that people make calls like this? to a neighbor no less?  Especially when you're a registered Democrat who would logically receive such a letter?  I don't know why she's chosen to register as she has, perhaps to vote more effectively in local primary elections, but she shouldn't be surprised to get mailings from the Democratic Party.  What bothered me the most, though, was the hate in her voice.  Why not a simple, polite call that asks me to remove her from my mailing list?

I was watching the funeral service for Congressman John Lewis when the call came in and fortunately didn't answer.  The anger I felt simply listening to the message was hard enough to contain.  I felt like calling her back with an equally hateful response or sending her a demeaning letter.  But I thought instead about John Lewis:  his humiliations, his arrests, and his beatings.  The hatred he endured over a lifetime of 80 years dwarfed my bad encounter with a neighbor.  Like him, I wouldn't let this experience poison me.

Still, it's hard to know what to do with hate.  Martin Luther King, Jr., would counsel love.  Others, forgiveness.  For me, it's enough to say that I might understand my neighbor if I had lived her life.  And while I won't exactly turn the other cheek, I'll refrain from meeting hate with hate.  It's the best I can do right now.

Eat, Pray, Martha

Several years ago my aunt gave me a subscription to one of Martha Stewart's magazines.  When the gift announcement arrived, I didn't know anything about the magazine or about Martha Stewart.  I thought maybe she was a religious figure.  Now, all these years later, I know she's a religious figure.

You see, even though that old subscription ended, we got a new one last year--this time, a freebie from a Stonyfield Yogurt contest.  The magazine, Martha Stewart Living, is filled with beautiful food, beautiful decor, and beautiful people--perfection, of a sort.  My favorite feature is called "Martha's Month," a one-page calendar that highlights Martha's daily activities.  Next month, for example, she will "Replace any expired spices" on November 2; "Polish silverware on November 20; "Stargaze with telescope" on November 27; and "Get blades sharpened on ice skates" on November 30.

Tell me, does anyone live like this?

Nowhere on her calendar does it ever say "Sort through piles of paper stacked throughout house" on November 6; "Water dying houseplants" on November 15; "Delete 200 emails" on November 21; or "Gather 10-year-old 35 mm film for developing" on November 28.  Only then could I relate.

Martha Stewart a religious figure?  In a way.  She's developed a set of precepts for living; they're clearly spelled out; and she tries to teach you how to live up to them.  And, like most religious precepts, they're impossible to follow!

Experts Part 2

Sometime around the Christmas holiday a reporter from The Herald-Sun interviewed me about gift-giving. When I asked why she'd called me, I laughed out loud at her answer: "Because you're an etiquette expert," she said. (My grandmother would have laughed, too--she, who used to knock my elbows out from under me when she'd join us for meals at our dining room table.) I'm an etiquette expert, apparently, because I published two columns in recent years about manners and I was once quoted in an AP article about RSVPs. Miss Manners I'm not.

Whether we watch Fox News or listen to NPR, we hear opinions from experts who have been designated as such by often-unseen editors and producers. The expertise may be as suspect as my etiquette credentials, yet most of us don't realize this. With round-the-clock news and the proliferation of talk shows, lots of unqualified people peddle their ideas.

Which makes selection of news sources all the more important. The Diane Rehm Show is my most reliable resource for balanced, comprehensive information. Produced by WAMU in Washington, D.C., and aired on public radio stations, the program features opposing perspectives on current events by knowledgeable guests. Perhaps most important is Diane Rehm's manner: calm, measured, and--contrary to most of her peers--not at all inflammatory. Her integrity is beyond question, and she treats callers with equal respect. In short, her character attests to the character of her experts.

If we had more news programs like The Diane Rehm Show, we'd be a better informed populace.

Cooties, No Touch Backs

When I was a kid, we used to play this game where someone would suddenly tap another person and shout, "Cooties, no touch backs." The kid who'd been tapped had cooties--something you didn't want--until she managed to tap someone else and pass the cooties on. Most of us really didn't have cooties; those who did were either from poor neighborhoods or from the orphanage.

I remembered this game the other day when I took an elderly friend to an annual retirement banquet. She has dementia, a form of cooties--I realized--for the older, well-to-do set. For as we mingled during the social hour, I watched old friends and neighbors sidle out of her way or make wide circles around us to avoid having to speak. She didn't notice, of course, because she doesn't remember most of them. Nonethless, she still welcomes a kind smile and a friendly reminder of her past.

Is it really that hard to greet an old friend?

I guess it is. I guess it's too frightening to realize where we might end up. It's easier and safer to look away and tap someone else: "Cooties, no touch backs."

The Shame of Public Confession

Since when does Tiger Woods owe me an apology for his personal behavior? I don’t know him or his wife, and yet—according to today’s etiquette—he’s supposed to confess to me?

Is anyone else tired of this public self-flagellation that we now require of our public personalities?

I used to watch these events, but finally stopped after I saw the look on Silda Spitzer’s face in New York when her husband resigned as governor. The searing pain was unforgettable. I couldn’t figure out at the time why her expression haunted me. Now I know: we should not be privy to such private moments in the lives of other people, regardless of who they are.

Imagine cameras on our faces, catching us at the saddest, most disappointing moments in our lives.

We are a cruel society, tossing up some of our most beloved figures to the lions’ den as soon as we learn they’ve done something outside our sexual norms (defined by whom I’m not sure). We are unforgiving, extracting public humiliation for “sins” older than the Bible.

I learned as a child that there were personal sides of my life that belonged only to me. This lesson is now obsolete. Our children learn that it’s O.K. to expose that which is most private and to destroy other people's lives and their families along the way.

So I didn’t watch Tiger. I read enough of what he said to feel sorry for him that he felt pressured to say anything. He’s a great golfer, his gift to the world.

Why can’t we leave it at that?