I’ve heard this said in many ways: “It’s the specifics that make it universal.”
I love novels of aristocratic social manners. I love their cultural specificity—their studies of cultures that are not mine. I especially love Edith Wharton. Growing up inside an Indian tribe with intense social rules, I highly identify with Lily Bart in House of Mirth.
My joke is, “In my tribe, you also have to know exactly which fork to use at dinner. The difference is that our forks are eagle feathers.”
What are some of the specific cultural practices inside your families and communities? What are the rules? How do you, as an individual, honor them or break them?
Love the forks as eagle feathers! I guess we had rules if I thought really hard and creatively, but they weren't very apparent. I do remember leaving the continent we call north america today, and returning to the island of my ancestors. It was really interesting to be an outsider to the european class system. I could see and hear people acting differently with each other, and sometimes they looked at me funny when they spoke or acted towards me and I didn't react in the way they expected. It was funny to see how lots of social power is imaginary, and if you don't recognize or react to it then it doesn't really exist. Another similar experience I had was swearing (in a language that wasn't my mother tongue) at work, a couple of coworkers (whose mother tongue it was) suddenly looked very alarmed and agitated. To me it was just a funny sounding word, to them it evoked memories that evoked feelings that created psychological and physiological effects. Anyhow, being a mammal that talks is weird.
We were allowed to smoke at the table when we were 15 or 16. There were 5 of us kids, so it was quite a right of passage for me, the baby of the family.
Come on, commodities and all that entails. I was blown away when I joined the US Navy. They had all this fancy stuff that I had never seen before. All my shipmates didn’t like it, they knew what it was. I hadn’t seen this chow before. I liked a lot of it. We didn’t have this on the Rez.
My father's Minnesota Lutheran Norwegian family's cultural practices all revolved around religion. My great grandfather never forgave my grandfather's brother for marrying a church organist from the "wrong" kind of Lutheran church. That side of the family is full of "secrets" regarding family members who broke religious traditions. My father rebelled by marrying a woman who was raised as a Christian Scientist. Another family tradition was broken when that marriage ended in divorce. She divorced him. Another tradition was broken, when he married my mother, a divorced woman.
My mother's side was eccentric when it came to cultural practices. Her grandfather was the president of the Theosophical Society in Boston in the early 1900s. That family participated in seances and read Madame Blavatsky. My mother was an Episcopal church secretary just before my parents married. She considered converting to Judaism when she was in her 60's and observed Jewish holidays in secret after my father protested by telling her, "There will not be two religions under this roof."
My parents were married in the Episcopal Church in 1948. They had to get permission to marry by the local bishop in order to be married in the Episcopal Church but were not looked down upon in that church for having been married before.
After they were married, they went to a Lutheran church and continued doing that until I was in grade school. After that, our family went to an Episcopal church. We never missed a Sunday of rules and rituals. We couldn't "go out and play" on Sundays.
Before every meal we said, "Bless O Lord, this food to thy use and us to thy service and give us grateful hearts, for Christ's sake. Amen." When one of my sisters or I was asked to say the prayer it we said it as fast as possible.
We took food seriously, we five brothers. We could get stuffed on our birthdays and Thanksgiving, otherwise we rose from the table not very hungry anymore and that was enough for us.
We lived in a meat and potatoes type of family. I'm pretty sure that included rabbit or squirrel at one time although no one admits it. On Sundays, we had fried chicken. We always had some kind of potato on the table. We had times when my Mom opened a can of breakfast sausage and fixed it. She called it goat's meat. If the kids ever didn't like something that was served, our choice was a glass full of corn flakes and milk. Our meals were not sophisticated. My Dad traveled to boat shows in New York and Atlanta and he came back longing for deli sandwiches and steaks. Those didn't really appear until the kids had grown up. She didn't go for "foreign" foods so I was in my early twenties before I tasted pizza. As a result I am adventurous in my food tastes. I guess I'm making up for the long time of meat and potatoes. To give my Mom credit though, she was an excellent baker and pie maker. She was the queen of the church dinners with her fresh coconut cake.
I had a friend who ate squirrel when he needed to. He told me the best way to prepare it was diced up as small as possible and drowned in strong curry spices. I filed that away as a good tip for hard times.
I come from a long line of saloon keepers and alcoholics, Irish Catholic on my dad's side and French Canadian on my mom's. We lived in a small Upper Peninsula town surrounded by woods and the Great Lakes. It was a cultural maze of strong ethnicities with a lot of intermarriage.
There were eleven kids in my dad's family and eight in my mother's, so I have a trillion cousins. Some grandfathers built cabins on lakes or rivers where tribes of kids could escape parental oversight much of the time. At my grandfather's cabin there was an attic filled with beds where kids were sent to sleep while parents played cards. They always played cards for hours and when they were finished, they ate a snack and sang old songs with great harmony.
There was also the drinking. Only the men drank to excess. They all worked blue collar jobs during the week and got drunk on Friday night. When we were very young we would walk to the saloon/boarding house owned by my grandpa with my dad. There were spittoons and all the men stood at the bar to drink. I loved the wonderful jukebox. That practice ended when my little sister came home and drank her milk like she was throwing back a shot. My mother was not amused.
Somehow those big families managed to keep their good will through life without any major breaks. They were people who laughed and cried together and at 77, I find myself becoming even more inclined to do the same. And I still make pasties (no carrots, only rutabagas) and tourtiere (Canadian pork pie) for New Year's Eve.
Having grown up mostly on the road and in a trailer to age 13, having been the child of an illiterate man whose parents were poor immigrants, I’ve always been an outsider to the which-fork-to-use society, or to any society with an established community. I read about people with roots generations deep and shrug, wonder what that feels like. We were isolated from the rest of our relatives by our moving, but bless my mother, who took us to get library cards in every town we stayed in, fostering my joy in reading and from my father I learned the pleasure in work well done.
On another note, I think the focus on food here is partly due to the "which fork" mention, but also because many of our strongest customs/traditions are there, at the table.
My grandfather (Paul Elihu Mason, 1898-1991) was a fountain of stories & joy. Driving around Seattle, he would point out where the speakeasys used to be. He loved to kick off any gathering with a rousing, "Whose birthday is it?" (even when it wasn't Christmas or anybody's birthday). My sisters & I still follow the ebullient practice!
At meals he loved to sing grace, with joyous upraised voice: "Oh, the Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need: the sun and the rain and Everything! The Lord is good to me! Aaaaaaamennnnnn!" (a variant on the old Johnny Appleseed song, I thinkl
I think a lot of my fundamental gratitude, enthusiasm, and gravitation to joy all came from him (and my orientation to the power of gentle kindness came from my grandmother). A testimony to the power of nurture, since he was not blood kin! My "real" grandfather sadly died before I was born, and Nana (bless her a thousand times!) had a charming romance with Grandpa Paul in her 60's; they married when I was a little girl. Here's to Grandpa Paul!
I'd like to read Edith Wharton someday. My older sister is all about etiquette especially at the dinner table. I swear she's related to princesses and queens. Maureen is mostly Irish. I bet she has watched Bridgerton once than once as well as Downton Abbey. Thanks for this article Sherman. I've been pre-disposed of this week with some vehicle issues.
I was a white kid growing up in Oakland CA in the 50s and 60s. We hunted and fished a lot so often I would take pheasant sandwiches to lunch, picking the lead shot out in front of my friends. I spent summers in Pomo tribe country away from my contemporaries. No I'm not Indigenous but I am deeply Native Californian.
First- come when called and wash up and comb your hair. At the table-no laughing or singing. Eat all your food (food was hard to come by sometimes) and stay at the table until it's gone. No elbows on the table and sit up. No shenanigins because this eating of supper was serious business. No prayer but being so serious was enough. Mom worked hard at making a meal from shopping for bargains to preparing what little she found and we honored her efforts. Dad only ate with us once in a while as he worked nights at restaurants. We were always grateful for the secret leftovers he brought home.
Everyone has specific memories so when I compare notes about this subject with my brothers I will be interested to hear what they say. My memories are not their memories.
I too enjoy books full of social graces - and those that break them just a little. Anne of Green Gables and Little Women are considered younger reader, but I adore them. Perhaps because I could see myself in Jo and Anne. A bit like Anne, I had to create my own culture, family and community. I did this by reading and using my imagination, finding kindred spirits, and my love of nature and her beauty.
Being the third generation of my family born in the US of A (Ireland) and only the second to go to college we seem to have dumped any social or cultural practices that may have made the trip over. In a misguided attempt to Americanize ourselves. Although the one thing that I think I started (too many cousins to ask, Irish Catholic) and I'm not sure if this is what your thinking about but we get to open one Xmas present on Xmas eve. I was young and the youngest so I just wined at my dad until he said ok but just one! As far as aristocratic social manners The Forsyte Saga is an awesome read, can be a bit dry but heck the guy did get a Nobel :) Of course so did Charles Morgan
In my family growing up, in good times and bad we always had enough to eat. There was always enough for a second helping. So when I went to a friend’s house for dinner and there were four of us eating, and there were four pork chops, four potatoes and just enough green beans to go around I was shocked. It felt like a restaurant where you only get what they give you.
My mother, brother, and I always had the evening meal (supper, dinner) together. We sat at our round, leather-covered table and chairs made by Mexican artisans that we got in Tucson though we now lived in Idaho. Mom did the cooking and we shared cleanup duty in turn. Mom was a Ph.D., so dinner discussion was as erudite as hungry teenagers can get. We did well together.
Ah, this one cuts deep. One thing I've always dreaded - and now I regret dreading it - is the myriad ways in which we honor our departed ones. I'm from Eastern Europe, which means I live in a country with a whole bunch of pre-Christian and Christian traditions, much to the delight of viewers of Dracula-type movies. Funeral and remembrance traditions have always spooked me out, even though I know they make so much sense. From a very strict calendar of remembrance traditions, with a set number of days when you need to do a lot of food and clothes redistribution, to the very specific number of spoons and type of dishes to be served, it all seemed excessive to me. Now, as a trained psychotherapist, all this makes so much sense: one hardly ever grieves alone in my culture. Grief is distributed and shouldered by others. Grief is portioned out not because of formalities, but because it helps to prevent rumination. Overthinking while you're picking out forty dishes and cutlery for only the first of the countless remembrance rituals to be carried out? Not quite likely. Connectedness instead of neurotic overthinking? Very much so and very happily so :)
Thank you for this. Seems like a good plan for all of us, all the time...to shoulder life together. I've been doing it myself for a long long time and just now I'm waking to the freedom and beauty of more frequent honest connection to this earth and all its creatures.
I am from the same place you are Sherman. I miss being able to see the distance. My dad was a professor of english, my mom a teacher. He grew up in tar paper shacks. Her most important etiquet lessons, you need to be kind. But the other stuff, she taught us about the forks. In case we were ever at a restaurant. ALL her "etiquette" lessons were in case we were someplace else. Okay to finish your soup by drinking from the bowl but never outside the house. Use your spoon. Also, the correct handling of silverware (no fists.) I appreciate most now how they insisted we treat others. But I am capable with silverware and all. Thanks mom and dad.
I was born quite a while after my 3 older sisters and by the time I came along our family didn’t have any specific rules, just general unspoken ones such as- respect each other, be kind, have integrity etc. also I was pretty stubborn and marched to my own drummer (as the saying goes) so my parents gave up trying to get me to follow arbitrary rules. I was lucky to have parents who truly accepted me and didn’t try to get me to conform to their, or society’s, norms.
Beautiful discussion! So, "how's your walk"? ..See...we were taught that our linguistic and textual rituals were objectively and universally true. My family wasn't exactly born into it, but I was. I grew up so familiar with the cultural practices of 70s fundamentalist xtianity that I only noticed the embedded codes when among "outsiders," like kids at school. When Connie, first bassoon, demanded to know why her boyfriend, who went to my church, said she wasn't saved, and what the hell did being saved mean anyway, I pulled out my locker bible. We started at John 3:16, then I showed her, "though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow," and a few other choice morsels, which led to a long discussion about sin, Jesus, redemptive sacrifice, etc. I kept thinking how insincere the boy was. When Connie came back for more, several times, I wished I didn't have to be the one who taught her the magic words. But when you're a child, and you're taught that your particular religious practices are The Truth, you feel obligated. It's a proselytizing culture... (..now I'm pretty sure that the kinds of sexual repression we were taught has formed many a kink...it's all about power and powerlessness...) (Yes, I'm suggesting that religious practice is culturally formed--human. No, I'm not suggesting that it's all bad or good.)
I read "The Dawn of Everything," which had a take on Native Americans as inspiring the Enlightenment, because they essentially lived as equals, so that there may be a chief who is like a commanding general for war, but it's by the choice and consent of the others. These ideas were taken to Europe and inspired the concept of individual liberty. So when you say you had strict etiquette it makes me think that of course, to get along with each other without a government structure over the top of you, you'd have to rely on shared rituals. What I remember from the book is that when a child was by whatever circumstance living with a tribe, they didn't want to leave. One man inherited a plantation and rode in just long enough to sign it over to his brother and rode back to the tribal life.
We had a lovely Florentine mamma so we always had dinners together. The table was full of discussions around politics, human behavior, school, work, whatever, and regardless of age we were encouraged to have a voice/an opinion, and...listened to. Going to other people's homes for meals was not common because mealtimes--if they even did them--in United Statesian homes were so uncomfortable. I could not be me because if I spoke up to add in, the adults looked at me like I had the proverbial two heads. I guess a young child with an opinion might be as rare.
Referring to this food oriented discussion , I grew up in a pretty boring household, so I have no customs to add . It is a wonderful read . The rich, beauty of , and sometimes comical responses . Nicely done. I enjoyed reading everyone’s response.
"Never discuss religion or politics!" The edicts of my grandparents for the supper table were respected.
I have always broken these rules because those are fascinating topics. My grown kids, however, have returned to their great-grandparents' way. So I'm a rebel, surrounded on both sides....
They are great discussion topics but dinner gatherings of family at least, should be one of peace and relaxation. Those can come after the washing up is done? ❤️
If people came to our house we fed them. A meal, a snack, a little something. The whole neighborhood was like this. Later, I realized our parents were all 2nd generation Americans, new arrivals to the lower middle class. This practice was an old world way to make sure all were fed, without embarrassing anyone who was hungry.
I was a good girl. I honored the grace saying rules of my conservatively religious family back in the fifties, and then the unique rules of the cult I joined in the seventies. Now I am old and free of rules and grateful for it all.
Hm. I'm sure much more than I recognize because I no longer see them as cultural practices. A few things that do come to mind: No hats at the table. No wearing ball caps backward. No knocking forks against teeth. Finishing your plate (there are starving children in Africa). When the boys go camping, the girls go out to eat. Don't wear a beard. Kids go to bed early so Mom can watch West Wing. And if you aren't 15 minutes early, you're late.
When I go to Christmas in San Antonio in December, if my Eritrean mother-in-law shoves food held between her fingers into my mouth I must not flinch. I also have to hold injera ONLY in my right hand to scoop up food lest her Ethiopian father send me down the street for my dinner. So many years living in Mexico, I always use my left to scoop food the same with a tortilla...no worries. There is time, I'll switch hands again a week before the visit and should be dextrous enough by then.
That rule held true for me at the Assembly of God church. I quit going when I was around 16. I was asked to my junior prom and said “Yes!” When I told my mom, she said have a fun time!
Wendy, my parents did not punish me as far as I can remember. I never became a good dancer and I blame the church. I also went to a Mennonite college and we were not allowed to dance so we had to go off campus to shake our booties.
I'm in Aotearoa (NZ) & we have just been going through the death & ceremony around the Māori King. This monarchy was set up to address land grabs & treaty breaches. Not a universal tribal monarch, but someone who latterly has become fluent in the language & strongly advocated for Māori self determination. This is an important political forum in an era when we have a right wing government who seek to extinguish our rights under the treaty we signed with the Crown.
These things are part of our culture & observed over the last few days:
Looking after visitors. Feeding everyone & giving them a bed in our marae ( open plan, mattresses on the floor. Grieving & talking about the departed as they lie in state. Someone is always next to the body. Song & performance. The appointment of a new regent. His daughter.
A final trip by canoe down his sacred river to be buried on his peoples' sacred mountain.
It's so important that this has been extensively covered by media here & internationally, to give everyone an insight into our ways.
Wow. That's something worth pondering. We said "grace" before dinner, but by rote rather than gratitude. We still do when family gathers. I know my mother tried to have meal traditions, but with my self-employed dad having a taste for beer with the boys after work, we kids often ate without him. I did set the table and share clean up duties with my younger brother.
When we raised our girls we set in place some Christmas traditions that they carry forward. The most notable is one present gets opened at a time. It takes forever to open them all, but there's something about appreciating each person who gives and receives.
We instituted that one gift at a time rule in our own family, and it does take a long time but it is so peaceful and makes the fact that we don't buy a lot of presents less important. When our kids were little we actually opened one present each on the twelve days of Christmas, but we stopped getting so many and switched to all on Christmas day.
Thank you for giving us the chance not just to read your wonderful writing, but to engage with you as well. I grew up in a neighborhood with lots of different families of all sizes and shapes, but not much differentiation in social expectations. The families would often dine together for special occasions. Many Jewish, but also mostly professional dads (and moms). Usual rules such as eating together, using china plates and silverware, no begging from the dogs unless it was steak night. My midwestern dad did not consider it a meal unless it was "meat and three" (IYKYK). But I was always watchful of how the different meals were prepared and enjoyed, and I learned quickly to enjoy and adapt. I still treasure my first bologna and Wonder Bread sandwich. Just don't get me started on Karo syrup on pancakes. Who would do that?!
English, came to live in the east with my Chinese / s’pore family, that was in the 80’s when good manners related to superstitions. Which is fascinating, But habit still finds them used even now, The placement of chopsticks, ( please do not stand them up in the rice bowl! It represents josh sticks placed up right in temples , like our votive candles, at funerals, so death:) was and is one of many. Numbers are another. Especially on Chinese new year and weddings. Even numbers fir red packet money, but not $4 as 4 is the chinese sound for die:) huge sums are paid to get a ‘good’ license plate number, it goes on. ….
Dinner promptly at 6 no matter (where I was at driving age). Early age learned how to set the table (and wash dishes-also clean any fresh caught fish).
I knew Olivia de Havilland (another story) my wife and I met with her in her Paris apartement.
Ironically, more about ‘my bio family’ with You on my Summer Reading list on my latest post here:
My Bronx born husband laughs at my Midwestern family picnics, which include intricate Jello molds with fruit. ( I have broken the chain of abuse and don't make them!). Also he is appalled that midwesterners can drink their coffee with meals; in NY it's always after. (According to him). I break that rule by drinking my coffee ☕ with a meal if needed.
I think it is so funny that everyone is talking about food. I feel like my family "rules" involve social ettiquette. The sort of things that pang me to even think about - it is not enough to go, but you have to want to go. I married a woman who believes that no one should have to do what they don't want to do. It is like she is a Martian. We didn't attend the family labor day party because we had to racoon proof the basement windows that we can finally open because it is not so terribly hot. My son didn't want to go anyway, because he does not like parties.
I am raising children that will find family on social media and eat food delivered by an mobile app. I have gone beyond broken rules.
ah, i had very little in common with the culture, or lack thereof, in which i was raised. still true to this day. i am not fearful of people different from myself and i embrace knowledge. always have,. one does not always choose one’s parents.
I still won't take a swipe at the butter with my table knife. Use the butter knife on the butter dish, and put the pat of butter on your plate, NOT directly onto your bread. NEVER put a milk carton on the table. Pour the milk into a pitcher. Put the pitcher on the table. I learned this about 75 years ago. It sticks!
Hello, Sherman Alexie. Thank you for a challenge to remember what it was like.
We always said “Grace” before our supper. After I moved out & built my own life, prayers were not spoken. That is, until I had something personal to say.
Now I pause before dinner to give thanks as well as ask for blessings on my meal & relationships.
Sitting up straight, no elbows on table, napkin in lap, cutting hand in lap until it was time to cut, no discussion of any topic that might anger the lord of the manor, no burping or farting during the meal, eat slowly, no garbling, eat everything on the plate or else....
Everyone eats T the same time. No elbows on the table. No tv until eveyone is finished. No chewing with your mouth open. Thank mother for delicious meal. Can I be ex used please. Fight over who washes the dishes
This is childhood at dinner at my house. One of my Mom’s friends held “tea parties” for several girls in our tiny town. She taught all of us manners and etiquette. I was about 3 years old.
Many decades ago, my parents and all us kids smoked cigarettes. After dinner, we’d sit around the table for awhile, talking, smoking, and using our plates as ashtrays. When I got older, I was surprised that this was not a common practice in other homes. As time went on, all of us quit smoking. But those laid back after dinner times together are nice family memories.
There was a distinct difference between my mom’s people and my dad’s people. My dad was raised by lace-curtain Irish Catholic folks, and my mom was raised by Sault St.Marie Ojibway/ career military combinations. So our home meal tradition was a large,well-set table filled with family-style foods and all cleared away for adult conversation and winowen outside,away from the smoke. Or, in the finished basement for games in bad weather; us kids were on our own unless there was a dust-up. We had swings and a slide and trees to climb,all fenced in. Oh,and fish or seafood on Friday. We were raised Catholic,after all.
It never hurts to cover all the spiritual bases. The weirdest thing was my dad’s membership in the Knights of Columbus. Once one of my classmates pointed out that it was a secret society. I sassed back that if it’s a secret, how did she know? Ha! But it was squarely placed in my mind that my dad was some kind of spy; I wondered if he could use the ceremonial sword any other way.
I grew up with a Greek father, straight off the boat as it were. All our friends were other Greek families and although there aren't table manner rules, family and eating together was always the focus. Meals took time and we would sit around for what seemed like hours while the adults talked. Kids were allowed to run around as long as they ate first and eating was super important. Everyone brought their special dish and everyone ate of those dishes, giving high praise to the cooks. If you visited a house and it wasn't mealtime, they would bring out something to eat, a sweet, fruit, and you had to eat it, even if you just came from eating elsewhere. Sharing food was their way of sharing love and community and we always spoke Greek (even my American mom learned it fluently).
She loves languages. She taught Spanish, learned Italian, a little French and Greek of course. She never would convert her religion though. When they married, my dad had to agree to raise the children in the Catholic faith or she wouldn't have been able to marry him.
Love the forks as eagle feathers! I guess we had rules if I thought really hard and creatively, but they weren't very apparent. I do remember leaving the continent we call north america today, and returning to the island of my ancestors. It was really interesting to be an outsider to the european class system. I could see and hear people acting differently with each other, and sometimes they looked at me funny when they spoke or acted towards me and I didn't react in the way they expected. It was funny to see how lots of social power is imaginary, and if you don't recognize or react to it then it doesn't really exist. Another similar experience I had was swearing (in a language that wasn't my mother tongue) at work, a couple of coworkers (whose mother tongue it was) suddenly looked very alarmed and agitated. To me it was just a funny sounding word, to them it evoked memories that evoked feelings that created psychological and physiological effects. Anyhow, being a mammal that talks is weird.
We were allowed to smoke at the table when we were 15 or 16. There were 5 of us kids, so it was quite a right of passage for me, the baby of the family.
Come on, commodities and all that entails. I was blown away when I joined the US Navy. They had all this fancy stuff that I had never seen before. All my shipmates didn’t like it, they knew what it was. I hadn’t seen this chow before. I liked a lot of it. We didn’t have this on the Rez.
My father's Minnesota Lutheran Norwegian family's cultural practices all revolved around religion. My great grandfather never forgave my grandfather's brother for marrying a church organist from the "wrong" kind of Lutheran church. That side of the family is full of "secrets" regarding family members who broke religious traditions. My father rebelled by marrying a woman who was raised as a Christian Scientist. Another family tradition was broken when that marriage ended in divorce. She divorced him. Another tradition was broken, when he married my mother, a divorced woman.
My mother's side was eccentric when it came to cultural practices. Her grandfather was the president of the Theosophical Society in Boston in the early 1900s. That family participated in seances and read Madame Blavatsky. My mother was an Episcopal church secretary just before my parents married. She considered converting to Judaism when she was in her 60's and observed Jewish holidays in secret after my father protested by telling her, "There will not be two religions under this roof."
My parents were married in the Episcopal Church in 1948. They had to get permission to marry by the local bishop in order to be married in the Episcopal Church but were not looked down upon in that church for having been married before.
After they were married, they went to a Lutheran church and continued doing that until I was in grade school. After that, our family went to an Episcopal church. We never missed a Sunday of rules and rituals. We couldn't "go out and play" on Sundays.
Before every meal we said, "Bless O Lord, this food to thy use and us to thy service and give us grateful hearts, for Christ's sake. Amen." When one of my sisters or I was asked to say the prayer it we said it as fast as possible.
blessolordthisfoodtothyuseandustothyserviceandgiveusgratefulheartsforchrist'ssakeamen.
As a result of this cultural background, I'm not religious but I do find beauty and truth and mystery in all religions and spiritual traditions.
I can no longer remember how to set a table "properly" the way I was taught to do as a child. Those rules came from my mother's Boston side.
Thank you for your question. Loved reading all the responses.
We took food seriously, we five brothers. We could get stuffed on our birthdays and Thanksgiving, otherwise we rose from the table not very hungry anymore and that was enough for us.
We lived in a meat and potatoes type of family. I'm pretty sure that included rabbit or squirrel at one time although no one admits it. On Sundays, we had fried chicken. We always had some kind of potato on the table. We had times when my Mom opened a can of breakfast sausage and fixed it. She called it goat's meat. If the kids ever didn't like something that was served, our choice was a glass full of corn flakes and milk. Our meals were not sophisticated. My Dad traveled to boat shows in New York and Atlanta and he came back longing for deli sandwiches and steaks. Those didn't really appear until the kids had grown up. She didn't go for "foreign" foods so I was in my early twenties before I tasted pizza. As a result I am adventurous in my food tastes. I guess I'm making up for the long time of meat and potatoes. To give my Mom credit though, she was an excellent baker and pie maker. She was the queen of the church dinners with her fresh coconut cake.
I had a friend who ate squirrel when he needed to. He told me the best way to prepare it was diced up as small as possible and drowned in strong curry spices. I filed that away as a good tip for hard times.
I come from a long line of saloon keepers and alcoholics, Irish Catholic on my dad's side and French Canadian on my mom's. We lived in a small Upper Peninsula town surrounded by woods and the Great Lakes. It was a cultural maze of strong ethnicities with a lot of intermarriage.
There were eleven kids in my dad's family and eight in my mother's, so I have a trillion cousins. Some grandfathers built cabins on lakes or rivers where tribes of kids could escape parental oversight much of the time. At my grandfather's cabin there was an attic filled with beds where kids were sent to sleep while parents played cards. They always played cards for hours and when they were finished, they ate a snack and sang old songs with great harmony.
There was also the drinking. Only the men drank to excess. They all worked blue collar jobs during the week and got drunk on Friday night. When we were very young we would walk to the saloon/boarding house owned by my grandpa with my dad. There were spittoons and all the men stood at the bar to drink. I loved the wonderful jukebox. That practice ended when my little sister came home and drank her milk like she was throwing back a shot. My mother was not amused.
Somehow those big families managed to keep their good will through life without any major breaks. They were people who laughed and cried together and at 77, I find myself becoming even more inclined to do the same. And I still make pasties (no carrots, only rutabagas) and tourtiere (Canadian pork pie) for New Year's Eve.
Having grown up mostly on the road and in a trailer to age 13, having been the child of an illiterate man whose parents were poor immigrants, I’ve always been an outsider to the which-fork-to-use society, or to any society with an established community. I read about people with roots generations deep and shrug, wonder what that feels like. We were isolated from the rest of our relatives by our moving, but bless my mother, who took us to get library cards in every town we stayed in, fostering my joy in reading and from my father I learned the pleasure in work well done.
On another note, I think the focus on food here is partly due to the "which fork" mention, but also because many of our strongest customs/traditions are there, at the table.
My grandfather (Paul Elihu Mason, 1898-1991) was a fountain of stories & joy. Driving around Seattle, he would point out where the speakeasys used to be. He loved to kick off any gathering with a rousing, "Whose birthday is it?" (even when it wasn't Christmas or anybody's birthday). My sisters & I still follow the ebullient practice!
At meals he loved to sing grace, with joyous upraised voice: "Oh, the Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need: the sun and the rain and Everything! The Lord is good to me! Aaaaaaamennnnnn!" (a variant on the old Johnny Appleseed song, I thinkl
I think a lot of my fundamental gratitude, enthusiasm, and gravitation to joy all came from him (and my orientation to the power of gentle kindness came from my grandmother). A testimony to the power of nurture, since he was not blood kin! My "real" grandfather sadly died before I was born, and Nana (bless her a thousand times!) had a charming romance with Grandpa Paul in her 60's; they married when I was a little girl. Here's to Grandpa Paul!
I'd like to read Edith Wharton someday. My older sister is all about etiquette especially at the dinner table. I swear she's related to princesses and queens. Maureen is mostly Irish. I bet she has watched Bridgerton once than once as well as Downton Abbey. Thanks for this article Sherman. I've been pre-disposed of this week with some vehicle issues.
I was a white kid growing up in Oakland CA in the 50s and 60s. We hunted and fished a lot so often I would take pheasant sandwiches to lunch, picking the lead shot out in front of my friends. I spent summers in Pomo tribe country away from my contemporaries. No I'm not Indigenous but I am deeply Native Californian.
EITH WHARTON FELICES
Good discussion!
First- come when called and wash up and comb your hair. At the table-no laughing or singing. Eat all your food (food was hard to come by sometimes) and stay at the table until it's gone. No elbows on the table and sit up. No shenanigins because this eating of supper was serious business. No prayer but being so serious was enough. Mom worked hard at making a meal from shopping for bargains to preparing what little she found and we honored her efforts. Dad only ate with us once in a while as he worked nights at restaurants. We were always grateful for the secret leftovers he brought home.
Everyone has specific memories so when I compare notes about this subject with my brothers I will be interested to hear what they say. My memories are not their memories.
I too enjoy books full of social graces - and those that break them just a little. Anne of Green Gables and Little Women are considered younger reader, but I adore them. Perhaps because I could see myself in Jo and Anne. A bit like Anne, I had to create my own culture, family and community. I did this by reading and using my imagination, finding kindred spirits, and my love of nature and her beauty.
Being the third generation of my family born in the US of A (Ireland) and only the second to go to college we seem to have dumped any social or cultural practices that may have made the trip over. In a misguided attempt to Americanize ourselves. Although the one thing that I think I started (too many cousins to ask, Irish Catholic) and I'm not sure if this is what your thinking about but we get to open one Xmas present on Xmas eve. I was young and the youngest so I just wined at my dad until he said ok but just one! As far as aristocratic social manners The Forsyte Saga is an awesome read, can be a bit dry but heck the guy did get a Nobel :) Of course so did Charles Morgan
I may be violating the norms of my tribe. My husband and I, surrounded by good but deceived Trump supporters, declare for Kamala.
I also love aristocratic social manners in fiction. I'm a huge fan of Jane Austen.
My traditions growing up were based in religious faith. I have broken with all these for the freedom and security of spiritual faith.
In my family growing up, in good times and bad we always had enough to eat. There was always enough for a second helping. So when I went to a friend’s house for dinner and there were four of us eating, and there were four pork chops, four potatoes and just enough green beans to go around I was shocked. It felt like a restaurant where you only get what they give you.
My mother, brother, and I always had the evening meal (supper, dinner) together. We sat at our round, leather-covered table and chairs made by Mexican artisans that we got in Tucson though we now lived in Idaho. Mom did the cooking and we shared cleanup duty in turn. Mom was a Ph.D., so dinner discussion was as erudite as hungry teenagers can get. We did well together.
Ah, this one cuts deep. One thing I've always dreaded - and now I regret dreading it - is the myriad ways in which we honor our departed ones. I'm from Eastern Europe, which means I live in a country with a whole bunch of pre-Christian and Christian traditions, much to the delight of viewers of Dracula-type movies. Funeral and remembrance traditions have always spooked me out, even though I know they make so much sense. From a very strict calendar of remembrance traditions, with a set number of days when you need to do a lot of food and clothes redistribution, to the very specific number of spoons and type of dishes to be served, it all seemed excessive to me. Now, as a trained psychotherapist, all this makes so much sense: one hardly ever grieves alone in my culture. Grief is distributed and shouldered by others. Grief is portioned out not because of formalities, but because it helps to prevent rumination. Overthinking while you're picking out forty dishes and cutlery for only the first of the countless remembrance rituals to be carried out? Not quite likely. Connectedness instead of neurotic overthinking? Very much so and very happily so :)
Thank you for this. Seems like a good plan for all of us, all the time...to shoulder life together. I've been doing it myself for a long long time and just now I'm waking to the freedom and beauty of more frequent honest connection to this earth and all its creatures.
I am from the same place you are Sherman. I miss being able to see the distance. My dad was a professor of english, my mom a teacher. He grew up in tar paper shacks. Her most important etiquet lessons, you need to be kind. But the other stuff, she taught us about the forks. In case we were ever at a restaurant. ALL her "etiquette" lessons were in case we were someplace else. Okay to finish your soup by drinking from the bowl but never outside the house. Use your spoon. Also, the correct handling of silverware (no fists.) I appreciate most now how they insisted we treat others. But I am capable with silverware and all. Thanks mom and dad.
I was born quite a while after my 3 older sisters and by the time I came along our family didn’t have any specific rules, just general unspoken ones such as- respect each other, be kind, have integrity etc. also I was pretty stubborn and marched to my own drummer (as the saying goes) so my parents gave up trying to get me to follow arbitrary rules. I was lucky to have parents who truly accepted me and didn’t try to get me to conform to their, or society’s, norms.
Beautiful discussion! So, "how's your walk"? ..See...we were taught that our linguistic and textual rituals were objectively and universally true. My family wasn't exactly born into it, but I was. I grew up so familiar with the cultural practices of 70s fundamentalist xtianity that I only noticed the embedded codes when among "outsiders," like kids at school. When Connie, first bassoon, demanded to know why her boyfriend, who went to my church, said she wasn't saved, and what the hell did being saved mean anyway, I pulled out my locker bible. We started at John 3:16, then I showed her, "though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow," and a few other choice morsels, which led to a long discussion about sin, Jesus, redemptive sacrifice, etc. I kept thinking how insincere the boy was. When Connie came back for more, several times, I wished I didn't have to be the one who taught her the magic words. But when you're a child, and you're taught that your particular religious practices are The Truth, you feel obligated. It's a proselytizing culture... (..now I'm pretty sure that the kinds of sexual repression we were taught has formed many a kink...it's all about power and powerlessness...) (Yes, I'm suggesting that religious practice is culturally formed--human. No, I'm not suggesting that it's all bad or good.)
Those two David's wrote one hella good tome. We lost Graeber, but Wengrow is still spreading the word(s).
I read "The Dawn of Everything," which had a take on Native Americans as inspiring the Enlightenment, because they essentially lived as equals, so that there may be a chief who is like a commanding general for war, but it's by the choice and consent of the others. These ideas were taken to Europe and inspired the concept of individual liberty. So when you say you had strict etiquette it makes me think that of course, to get along with each other without a government structure over the top of you, you'd have to rely on shared rituals. What I remember from the book is that when a child was by whatever circumstance living with a tribe, they didn't want to leave. One man inherited a plantation and rode in just long enough to sign it over to his brother and rode back to the tribal life.
Man, Tejanos/Texicans are a whole different breed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they rolled up tortillas and used them as straws.
We had a lovely Florentine mamma so we always had dinners together. The table was full of discussions around politics, human behavior, school, work, whatever, and regardless of age we were encouraged to have a voice/an opinion, and...listened to. Going to other people's homes for meals was not common because mealtimes--if they even did them--in United Statesian homes were so uncomfortable. I could not be me because if I spoke up to add in, the adults looked at me like I had the proverbial two heads. I guess a young child with an opinion might be as rare.
Referring to this food oriented discussion , I grew up in a pretty boring household, so I have no customs to add . It is a wonderful read . The rich, beauty of , and sometimes comical responses . Nicely done. I enjoyed reading everyone’s response.
Thanks Sherman, a great idea.
"Never discuss religion or politics!" The edicts of my grandparents for the supper table were respected.
I have always broken these rules because those are fascinating topics. My grown kids, however, have returned to their great-grandparents' way. So I'm a rebel, surrounded on both sides....
They are great discussion topics but dinner gatherings of family at least, should be one of peace and relaxation. Those can come after the washing up is done? ❤️
If people came to our house we fed them. A meal, a snack, a little something. The whole neighborhood was like this. Later, I realized our parents were all 2nd generation Americans, new arrivals to the lower middle class. This practice was an old world way to make sure all were fed, without embarrassing anyone who was hungry.
Our house on the rez was a gathering place.
And there never seemed to be any shame attached to the neighbor kids who seemed to routinely show up at meal time.
I was a good girl. I honored the grace saying rules of my conservatively religious family back in the fifties, and then the unique rules of the cult I joined in the seventies. Now I am old and free of rules and grateful for it all.
Hm. I'm sure much more than I recognize because I no longer see them as cultural practices. A few things that do come to mind: No hats at the table. No wearing ball caps backward. No knocking forks against teeth. Finishing your plate (there are starving children in Africa). When the boys go camping, the girls go out to eat. Don't wear a beard. Kids go to bed early so Mom can watch West Wing. And if you aren't 15 minutes early, you're late.
When I go to Christmas in San Antonio in December, if my Eritrean mother-in-law shoves food held between her fingers into my mouth I must not flinch. I also have to hold injera ONLY in my right hand to scoop up food lest her Ethiopian father send me down the street for my dinner. So many years living in Mexico, I always use my left to scoop food the same with a tortilla...no worries. There is time, I'll switch hands again a week before the visit and should be dextrous enough by then.
I grew up Mennonite. One of the church rules was no dancing. I broke that rule in the 7th grade at a sock hop after a basketball game.
That rule held true for me at the Assembly of God church. I quit going when I was around 16. I was asked to my junior prom and said “Yes!” When I told my mom, she said have a fun time!
Wendy, my parents did not punish me as far as I can remember. I never became a good dancer and I blame the church. I also went to a Mennonite college and we were not allowed to dance so we had to go off campus to shake our booties.
I'm in Aotearoa (NZ) & we have just been going through the death & ceremony around the Māori King. This monarchy was set up to address land grabs & treaty breaches. Not a universal tribal monarch, but someone who latterly has become fluent in the language & strongly advocated for Māori self determination. This is an important political forum in an era when we have a right wing government who seek to extinguish our rights under the treaty we signed with the Crown.
These things are part of our culture & observed over the last few days:
Looking after visitors. Feeding everyone & giving them a bed in our marae ( open plan, mattresses on the floor. Grieving & talking about the departed as they lie in state. Someone is always next to the body. Song & performance. The appointment of a new regent. His daughter.
A final trip by canoe down his sacred river to be buried on his peoples' sacred mountain.
It's so important that this has been extensively covered by media here & internationally, to give everyone an insight into our ways.
Ngā mihi.
Wow. That's something worth pondering. We said "grace" before dinner, but by rote rather than gratitude. We still do when family gathers. I know my mother tried to have meal traditions, but with my self-employed dad having a taste for beer with the boys after work, we kids often ate without him. I did set the table and share clean up duties with my younger brother.
When we raised our girls we set in place some Christmas traditions that they carry forward. The most notable is one present gets opened at a time. It takes forever to open them all, but there's something about appreciating each person who gives and receives.
We instituted that one gift at a time rule in our own family, and it does take a long time but it is so peaceful and makes the fact that we don't buy a lot of presents less important. When our kids were little we actually opened one present each on the twelve days of Christmas, but we stopped getting so many and switched to all on Christmas day.
Thank you for giving us the chance not just to read your wonderful writing, but to engage with you as well. I grew up in a neighborhood with lots of different families of all sizes and shapes, but not much differentiation in social expectations. The families would often dine together for special occasions. Many Jewish, but also mostly professional dads (and moms). Usual rules such as eating together, using china plates and silverware, no begging from the dogs unless it was steak night. My midwestern dad did not consider it a meal unless it was "meat and three" (IYKYK). But I was always watchful of how the different meals were prepared and enjoyed, and I learned quickly to enjoy and adapt. I still treasure my first bologna and Wonder Bread sandwich. Just don't get me started on Karo syrup on pancakes. Who would do that?!
English, came to live in the east with my Chinese / s’pore family, that was in the 80’s when good manners related to superstitions. Which is fascinating, But habit still finds them used even now, The placement of chopsticks, ( please do not stand them up in the rice bowl! It represents josh sticks placed up right in temples , like our votive candles, at funerals, so death:) was and is one of many. Numbers are another. Especially on Chinese new year and weddings. Even numbers fir red packet money, but not $4 as 4 is the chinese sound for die:) huge sums are paid to get a ‘good’ license plate number, it goes on. ….
Joss not josh stocks:) sorry josh
The po' folk eat off paper plates. Not a lot of people know that
Dinner promptly at 6 no matter (where I was at driving age). Early age learned how to set the table (and wash dishes-also clean any fresh caught fish).
I knew Olivia de Havilland (another story) my wife and I met with her in her Paris apartement.
Ironically, more about ‘my bio family’ with You on my Summer Reading list on my latest post here:
https://open.substack.com/pub/jeff515p0/p/i-feel-like-i-am-dying-faster-than?r=1n8kl4&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
My Bronx born husband laughs at my Midwestern family picnics, which include intricate Jello molds with fruit. ( I have broken the chain of abuse and don't make them!). Also he is appalled that midwesterners can drink their coffee with meals; in NY it's always after. (According to him). I break that rule by drinking my coffee ☕ with a meal if needed.
I think it is so funny that everyone is talking about food. I feel like my family "rules" involve social ettiquette. The sort of things that pang me to even think about - it is not enough to go, but you have to want to go. I married a woman who believes that no one should have to do what they don't want to do. It is like she is a Martian. We didn't attend the family labor day party because we had to racoon proof the basement windows that we can finally open because it is not so terribly hot. My son didn't want to go anyway, because he does not like parties.
I am raising children that will find family on social media and eat food delivered by an mobile app. I have gone beyond broken rules.
Yes, me too.
That feels lonely to me. Your last paragraph reads like a poem.
ah, i had very little in common with the culture, or lack thereof, in which i was raised. still true to this day. i am not fearful of people different from myself and i embrace knowledge. always have,. one does not always choose one’s parents.
Its not about fear tho❤️its just interesting . Good that you do you❤️
I still won't take a swipe at the butter with my table knife. Use the butter knife on the butter dish, and put the pat of butter on your plate, NOT directly onto your bread. NEVER put a milk carton on the table. Pour the milk into a pitcher. Put the pitcher on the table. I learned this about 75 years ago. It sticks!
I was an urban Mowgli raised by cartoons on TV. I never understood the rules until I was punished for breaking them, even among my own people.
Hello, Sherman Alexie. Thank you for a challenge to remember what it was like.
We always said “Grace” before our supper. After I moved out & built my own life, prayers were not spoken. That is, until I had something personal to say.
Now I pause before dinner to give thanks as well as ask for blessings on my meal & relationships.
With much respect, HELENLOUISE J. ;-}
Sitting up straight, no elbows on table, napkin in lap, cutting hand in lap until it was time to cut, no discussion of any topic that might anger the lord of the manor, no burping or farting during the meal, eat slowly, no garbling, eat everything on the plate or else....
Very formal.
But not always obeyed.
Everyone eats T the same time. No elbows on the table. No tv until eveyone is finished. No chewing with your mouth open. Thank mother for delicious meal. Can I be ex used please. Fight over who washes the dishes
This is childhood at dinner at my house. One of my Mom’s friends held “tea parties” for several girls in our tiny town. She taught all of us manners and etiquette. I was about 3 years old.
Many decades ago, my parents and all us kids smoked cigarettes. After dinner, we’d sit around the table for awhile, talking, smoking, and using our plates as ashtrays. When I got older, I was surprised that this was not a common practice in other homes. As time went on, all of us quit smoking. But those laid back after dinner times together are nice family memories.
Love this. How old were the kids who smoked cigarettes???!
Wow! That is an old school ritual!
There was a distinct difference between my mom’s people and my dad’s people. My dad was raised by lace-curtain Irish Catholic folks, and my mom was raised by Sault St.Marie Ojibway/ career military combinations. So our home meal tradition was a large,well-set table filled with family-style foods and all cleared away for adult conversation and winowen outside,away from the smoke. Or, in the finished basement for games in bad weather; us kids were on our own unless there was a dust-up. We had swings and a slide and trees to climb,all fenced in. Oh,and fish or seafood on Friday. We were raised Catholic,after all.
Many of the most traditional Spokane Indians on my rez were also the most Catholic.
It never hurts to cover all the spiritual bases. The weirdest thing was my dad’s membership in the Knights of Columbus. Once one of my classmates pointed out that it was a secret society. I sassed back that if it’s a secret, how did she know? Ha! But it was squarely placed in my mind that my dad was some kind of spy; I wondered if he could use the ceremonial sword any other way.
I grew up with a Greek father, straight off the boat as it were. All our friends were other Greek families and although there aren't table manner rules, family and eating together was always the focus. Meals took time and we would sit around for what seemed like hours while the adults talked. Kids were allowed to run around as long as they ate first and eating was super important. Everyone brought their special dish and everyone ate of those dishes, giving high praise to the cooks. If you visited a house and it wasn't mealtime, they would bring out something to eat, a sweet, fruit, and you had to eat it, even if you just came from eating elsewhere. Sharing food was their way of sharing love and community and we always spoke Greek (even my American mom learned it fluently).
Ah, that your Mom learned Greek is fascinating. I'm always fascinated by the people who convert to other cultures and religions upon marrying.
She loves languages. She taught Spanish, learned Italian, a little French and Greek of course. She never would convert her religion though. When they married, my dad had to agree to raise the children in the Catholic faith or she wouldn't have been able to marry him.
I like the idea of converting to/being adopted by another culture.
They never truly see you as one of them though.