We're Not Raising "Well-Mannered" Children

Well, we are, but not like you might think

It was lunchtime and we were hungry - the boys especially so since they had just finished their first parkour class (yes, homeschooling kids get to take parkour class). I suggested a new breakfast and lunch place that just opened up not too far from our home, and we decided to try it out. I won’t name the place, but it rhymes with “When in Quarantine.”

The food was okay. Some of it was cold when it arrived and it arrived sporadically. The service, too, was not great: we had to remind our server several times about forgotten items, hence the food’s sporadic arrivals. There were a couple of TVs on the walls (why can’t I find a nice restaurant without screens these days?) showing talk shows and the weather channel, which actually had a very interesting piece on about tornados. We watched it, finished our food and waited for the bill.

And waited.

The boys started to get fidgety in their seats, so they got up to walk around the place, get a closer look at the tornados and look out the windows at the car park. It was their first time there and they were curious. They weren’t running around yelling their heads off or hiding under things like they do when we take them to Ikea.

It was at this point that an elderly lady sitting by herself in a booth behind us entered our otherwise enjoyable morning. My wife said, “that lady just gave our boys a dirty look, scoffed and shook her head.” After the second time this happened my wife, Mama Bear that she is, approached the lady and asked her if she had a problem with our boys walking around the restaurant. The elderly lady’s response instantly betrayed her as a grouchy granny - one of the only three kinds of granny there are.

“Well yes, actually.”

You know that feeling you get when someone says something you don’t think someone would actually say? That shock at having the fabric of your peaceful morning torn at by uncouth words from a stranger’s mouth? That set in. The façade of civility that hangs so fragilely around our public spaces became visible for what it is, and wore itself as sideways glances on the faces of the restaurant servers.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” My wife’s back was up.

“Well, this is a public space, not a playground,” replied the grouchy granny, quiet but indignant.

I have to admit, it was at this point that the feeling I described above became a deafening silence in my ears, so overwhelmed was I with the audacity of the moment presenting itself that I only faintly heard, as though underwater, my wife’s response (to be fair I was also trying to pay our bill).

My wife said that the boys were not being disrespectful, they weren’t being loud, or getting in anyone’s way (the lunch rush was well over and the restaurant not particularly busy), that they were just being curious children and had as much right to be there as did the grouchy granny.

“Well, I’m from a different generation.” So spake the granny.

My wife then pulled no punches - god love her - and waxed about the unfortunate, generational and (from our perspective) immoral view that “children should be seen and not heard” (or maybe even not seen at all from the granny’s perspective). She defended our boys’ autonomy, their freedom to move beyond their seats and their right to be in a public space; that playgrounds are not the only acceptable spaces in society for children to be children; and, after audibly feeling sorry for the grouchy granny’s children and grand children, protectively walked our boys out of the restaurant.

As I was finishing up payment of our mediocre meal and now less than enjoyable experience, the grouchy granny mumbled something else under her breath. I asked her to repeat what she said: “I have well-mannered grandchildren.”

Well, they certainly didn’t get that from you, lady!

“And I have well-mannered children,” I replied a little hotly. “Is it ill-mannered to walk around a restaurant?”

“Yes, it is.”

Literally just walking!

Remember that feeling? It’s back again. “Okay, I guess we’re just going to have to agree to disagree then. But I’m not going to strap my children into their seats so they can’t leave the table just to please you.” I thanked the server, who was trying as hard as she could to become invisible, and left the restaurant.

The boys were very thankful to their Mama Bear for sticking up for them, and showed it with hugs and showers of kisses. They talked about their experience with another granny in Superstore afterwards, who made a point to distinguish herself from the grouchy granny by letting me in line ahead of her (thank you).

Had the boys been acting out of turn you can bet that my wife and I would have pulled them up on it, because that’s what we do. Had they been speaking crudely or rudely to people we would have had our own words with them. Had the staff themselves had an issue with the boys walking around, I’m sure they would have said something. The values of kindness and respect are at the core of our parenting, as are encouraging their freedom and imagination. I recently came across the beautiful artwork of Christine Sonntag at the Art 1274 Hollis Gallery in Halifax, and her painting “What If” and the accompanying poem perfectly capture the feelings I have about the kind of home and schooling environment we try to create.

What If,

I could climb so high
I would touch the sky..and
Watch as clouds, birds and pigs flew by,

My world, so full of things to see..
So safe and wonderful
For you and me.

“What If?” by Christine Sonntag

We are also conscious of empowering our children to use their voice, to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, even if it means being “impolite”, and we take care to provide a safe space for them to express their autonomy. They felt safe enough in that moment to be themselves, to act on their curiosities, and did so in a non-disruptive manner. I mean, can you imagine what that lady would have said if she’d seen them in Ikea?!

If I had to guess I’d say that the grouchy granny’s “well-mannered grandchildren” were scared of being themselves, of stepping out of line, of ruffling the feathers of old birds who can’t stand a bit of colour, unpredictability, and things that don’t fit neatly into pre-labelled boxes. Like so many of us were.

So no, we’re not raising “well-mannered” children. And we’re damn proud of that.