Opinion
Sunday Night
MaryHelen Swanson
When the rules change
I am in awe each time I visit with a centenarian, that they have survived societyís changes through so many years. Inevitably I find myself asking them how they dealt with it all. More often than not, theyíll simply say, ìYou just do.î While in my heart I understand what they are telling me, itís not exactly the answer Iím seeking. It becomes harder each decade when the set of guidelines I grew up with are replaced with new values and perspectives. Things that made a big difference to my mother and father, and eventually to me, just donít seem to be important to the new generation. The dos and doníts of the 40s, 50s and 60s have transformed into 21st century ìdo what you think is best for you.î The rules, as I understood them, were for my safe-keeping and happiness, if not for keeping order in my life. Some rules made sense, others not so much. No singing at the table. No running in the halls. No talking out of turn. If you donít have enough of a special treat to share with everybody around you, donít eat it in front of them. Donít sass back to your parents. (Thatís another whole column). Donít make faces, your face will stay that way. Donít stick your tongue on the jungle gym in winter. You know you were going to try it the moment they said not to. Recently a classmate and I reminisced about the dress code in high school, a set of rules for what you could and could not wear. No engineer boots, cleats, or rolled up shirt sleeves for the guys. No slacks for girls. No skirts above the knees. No green hair, not even on March 17. The ìslacks ruleî wasnít so bad. It was nice to wear skirts and dresses to school, leaving the cutoffs and pedal pushers for at home. I only wish my mom would have been more aware of the slacks rule. She made me wear them under my skirts to school in the winter, all the way through junior high. And Grandma, she was worse. She bought us those dreadful pink snuggies to keep our legs warm. Worse yet, Mom made us wear them, under the slacks. The time the slacks rule really got out of hand, as I remember, was when I got sent home from a Friday night dance for wearing my new aqua blue culottes. They were designed to look like a pleated skirt, but somehow while dancing, the fact that my attire was actually a split skirt was disclosed and it set off an alarm. I was duly sent to call my Dad to come get me for . . . I was wearing slacks. My above-mentioned friend had an even wilder tale of the dress code violation. She said she was called to the assistant principalís office where she was threatened with expulsion because her blouse was not tucked into her skirt. She had to go to the girlís restroom, tuck in her blouse and report back. This I never knew about, I guess I always tucked. The rules went on. You spoke to your adult neighbors and your parentsí friends when spoken to and always called them Mr. or Mrs. You didnít have friends over after school when your mother was at work. You couldnít get away with it anyway because the neighbors were watching. Looking both ways before crossing the street, you learned by age 5. Today, itís the drivers who arenít always following the rules. If a person has a foot extended into the street, the light is green and the little hand on the signal is waving you onward, that should count for something. While rules change with passing years, it is comforting when you come across one that never changes. Most recently, as my favorite four-year-old and I bundled up to go out and romp in the fresh blanket of white fluff, he, with his newly-acquired wisdom, made this profound statement, ìDonít eat the yellow snow.î I think I know now what itís all about when you get to be 100.
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