Dirty Habits

I'll be brief. Who wants to hear about things like these at great length, anyway? Someone else said most of it in that little poem about boys being made of toads and puppy-tails and a lot of other ugly ingredients. But there is a natural inclination to lean toward distasteful habits and what we didn't learn on our own (instinct) we picked up from the tribe (our peers).

Parents are the most logical guides in directing children toward civilization, an idea built in layers over interminable time (and certainly not a flawless scheme. Their job is to prod, to nag, to redirect.)

They have to redirect early on. Little toddlers are snuggled in their warm beds in Doctor Dentons. When they outgrow them (I've never seen Doctor Dentons in my size) they graduate to two piece jammies and their feet are freed to the cold touch of sheets. A lot of us countered that by wearing our socks to bed. That's a no-no.

Gee, I've outgrown the Dr. D's and my pajamas are printed with elephants and giraffes and seals and deer and robins. Mercifully, clothiers don't put their cutesies on larger sizes. Maybe there's a statute that prevents that.

Parents doing their duty will look into the beds of their children to count toes. They use subterfuge. "Let's play a game." This little piggy (toe) went to market. This little piggy (toe) stayed home. This little piggy (toe) had roast beef. This little piggy had none. And this little piggy (the toe that they're going to wiggle a lot harder than the others) went wee-wee-wee-wee all the way home."

The thought never crossed my mind that pigs ate roast beef. I had to be bare-foot for this game and mom played the clever simpleton and I giggled away all the thoughts of the day. It's time to flush the brain and sweet dreams follow.

Wee-wee-wee-wee! Maybe that's why I wet the bed during that period.

Some kids regressed. When their toes weren't pulled they snuck their socks into the sack. Grown-ups who wear socks to bed are obviously prepared for a quick get-away. I saw some movies later in life that confirmed that.

When I was a kid baths were traditional Saturday night obligations. This isn't to say that people didn't bathe on other nights. Hot water was something of a luxury and it didn't run automaticlly from the tap so tradition developed from the lower end of the economic system and the poor who were proud at least were clean on Sunday. Before scientists gave us what we really needed for our comfort and well-being (instant hot water), entrepreneurs sold scents. People doused perfume on sweaty parts of their bodies. The result was gagging to those in their immediate vicinity. Aack! The ignorant still buy deodorants.

In the mornings we were taught, commanded, to brush our teeth and wash our faces. Did you ever see a kid who didn't wash his face? It shows around the eyes. After a few days of neglect he could look like Fred Allen.

On our own we were pigs. We ate like pigs and slouched into our food. We left toilets unflushed. We were constantly drawn to dirt and mud. We learned to spit. We might substitute a finger for a hankie. We changed underwear only at gunpoint. We picked away scabs from boo-boos.

"Stop that"

"Don't do that"

"Pick that up"

"That," was a dirty habit. Our parents, and others, worked to lead us away from dirty habits. I guess it took about thirteen years to break us into being civilized. Civilization was built in layers and the Jews of old celebrated the success of their efforts with the Bar Mitzvah. "Today I am a man."

After that kids were taught direction. The outside world offered them careers: lawyers, car salesmen, psychologists, insurance and real-estate agents, perfume makers, casino operators, money lenders, politicians, bank robbers, quacks, mass murderers, counsellors, astrologers, entertainers.

Someone escaped the dirty and gave us instant hot water.

The time comes when all that potty-training isn't practical anymore. Once we (boys) can reach the bowl we're taught four things. First: lift the seat. Second: aim toward the water at the bottom of the bowl. Third: flush. And finally: wash our hands. Later in life, the first two of these directives are reversed.

All those years we were constantly reminded to lift toilet seats was for the ladies and the girls. They didn't like sitting on wet seats. They go nuts and you can't blame them. You might hear a scream from the bathroom. By the time we get it right we're overprogrammed and when we get older women still yell. We've lifted the seat to pee. But they tell us to "put the seat down." I guess the absent minded inadvertently sat on the porcelain.

And after the "cute" age they advise us to direct our stream just above the water line. This saves embarrassing the women when guests are in the house and they don't want to hear the cataract in the bathroom.

Flushing and washing-up are ignored by lazy-types. They're hopeless. I would say don't shake hands with any of that lot but I don't know who is doing what.