One of the things that struck me in the past few months, especially (although not exclusively) is how young folks think Senator Sanders’ grumpiness is cool.
The second thing was (and is) how various supporters (both ones that know him and ones that don’t) appear on talk shows and news shows and, when confronted with a question of the Senator’s behavior will dismiss it as “just how Bernie is.”
I’m not sure when the line got blurry between “grumpiness” or “telling it like it is” and manners, civility and a modicum of professionalism, but it’s a bad line to lose sight of.
My grandfather was grumpy (sorta looked like Bernie too actually). My Great Aunt Elaine “told it like it was.” Neither of them was what I would consider a nice person; neither of them was particularly fun to be around and, frankly, if there was any two people in the world that I would rather NOT be around for an extended period of time, it was both of them. Especially when they were at the same table.
One of the first lessons most children learn is that there’s a difference between telling the truth and being rude. “Thank you for cooking, Mom, but I’m not sure I really like this” was acceptable; “this food tastes like crap” was not.
One of the second lessons most children learn is having a bad day is not an excuse for snapping at people. That’s why there are time-outs.
I grew up in a three-apartment row house with a great aunt and uncle upstairs, and a great-uncle and Grandpa downstairs. Our apartment was in the middle. It was strategic — because my upstairs relatives wanted to be as far away from Grandpa as possible. As I grew older, I had a world of sympathy for the Uncle Frankie, who shared an apartment with Grandpa. Frankly, he led a dog’s life — treated like “the help” and bearing the brunt of Grandpa’s grumpiness, tantrums, snappishness and demands.
Grandpa knew what everyone in the world should do about everything. His family were not the only recipients of his strictures and advice — he had no issues pontificating and interfering in the lives of families on the entire block either. He knew what flowers should be planted, he knew what kind of dogs were acceptable pets, he knew how people should utilize their backyards to garner the most amount of vegetables, what color they should paint their homes, what kind of roof they should get and the list goes on. None of this information was first-hand — if Grandpa ever touched a clump of dirt in his life it’s a surprise to me, and while he wore matching clothes for the most part (he stuck to greens and browns for his entire wardrobe) he certainly didn’t have the soul of an artist.
He also had no brakes when it came to escalating arguments over the most trivial crap imaginable, of telling people when they weren’t “looking so good,” and of shouting down people that disagreed with him. It got so bad that by the time he was in his 70’s, people would see him on his daily “neighborhood mayor” walk and go inside until he was a safe distance away. Add to this that his versions of reality and truth in any situation were a tad compromised by whatever he wanted the outcome to be.
He would proudly tell anyone who would listen that he was “purebred Italian,” that he voted “the right way,” and that women shouldn’t work outside the home or wear pants. (He was (cough) “traditional”.)
And it was embarrassing. A lot. To my mother (his daughter), my father, his sister and brother and his grandkids.
His saving grace was that occasionally Gramps would let out a laugh — a genuine laugh. Occasionally he was generous — passing us a dollar to go get an egg-cream at Webster’s soda shop. He was not, however, a warm and fuzzy, sometimes silly kind of grandfather who’d read you stories or get silly now and then.
If, as a child or young adult, he snapped, embarrassed or mentioned that any of us girls we were “looking fat” or were “lazy” — Aunt Josie and Mom would clamp their mouths shut for a second, exchange glances and then say to us “Well, it’s just how he is. He loves you, but some people...”
Perhaps it was because of the constant exposure of their children to Gramps that Mom and Dad were fairly ruthless in teaching politeness, manners, and civility to their children.
As an adult I did the same, I did the same with my kids. I taught them how to get their point across without willfully insulting or disrespecting another person, to wait their turn to play with a toy, get on a ride or in conversations with the friends.
“Just how he is” might be acceptable in a family member, it is NOT acceptable on the world stage. Grumpiness is not “cool” — it’s rude. It’s not “being up-front” — it’s being self-righteous and overbearing.
I’ll be honest. I don’t like Senator Sanders’ style of social intercourse. I was surprised when he snapped at his wife in Madison: “Don’t stand next to me.” I was irritated when, during the debates, he’d raise his hand as soon as his opponent spoke, make faces, roll his eyes, and got particularly indignant that he continually used the “Grandpa snortle” — that snort turned into a chuckle meant to convey to anyone watching that whatever was being said should be dismissed.
And I was appalled by this weekend’s incidents with the Pope (which I shall not detail here — videos are all over Twitter so have at it).
Whether we like it or not, whether we think it sucks or not, and no matter what labels — such as “too politically correct” or “bullshit politics” — we put on it, there’s a certain level of diplomacy, civility and manners demanded of government leaders. It’s how things get done. “You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.” It’s as old as I am, that saying, but it remains a core truth.
We are electing a President. A standard-bearer for the United States of America. Someone who will represent our country at international conferences, at negotiation tables around the world. Someone who will use “honey” rather than “vinegar” to get things done that Americans so desperately NEED to get done.
“Just how he is” isn’t an acceptable excuse anymore.
(And yes, I put on body armor prior to hitting “publish”)