Show Some Respect, Please

Okay, yes. When I was a kid I thought my parents a little over the top with the whole respect thing. Especially as I spent half my youth in New England. Up there I had adults tell me all the time when I obeyed my parents and addressed them as “Mrs. Smith”, “Oh, just call me ‘Margie’.” All the other kids certainly did. But when I told my parents Mrs. Smith said it was okay to call her “Margie”, I was soundly told, “You will call her ‘Mrs. Smith’.” I swore I would never make my children do that.

As if that didn’t make me weird enough to my peers, I was also carefully instructed to answer “Yes, ma’am”, “No. ma’am”, “Yes, sir” and “No, sir”. In fact, we had a jar of coins in the house we were saving to take a trip to Chuck E. Cheeses (a HUGE treat for us). Every time we failed to answer with the proper “Yes, ma’am” or “No, sir”, out came a coin. Let’s just say it took us a little while to save up…

After a while, I just got use to being weird. Years went by and it became so ingrained, you thought nothing of it. Until I got my first adult job. Let’s just say it took me a while to stop trying to figure out my co-workers last names so I could show proper respect. Although, with some, I still added “Mr.” or “Mrs.” and I couldn’t quite get over the “Yes, ma’am” or “No, sir”.

Of course, when I did live or work in the South, it was no big deal. In fact, it became even more ingrained because everyone did it. And during my last three years in Texas, I was quite used to being referred to as “Miss Melissa” and even learned to tolerate “Yes, ma’am.” Then I moved back North.

And the oath I took as a child has done a full 180 reversal. My children will show proper respect, I don’t care where they live. They will say “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir”. And they will call adults “Mr.” or “Mrs.” or, at least, “Miss”. Because there is something very wrong about a three-year-old coming up to me and saying, “Hi, Melissa!” I haven’t yet, but I’ve come very close to telling one of them, “It’s ‘Miss Melissa’.”

Most people find my “Southern lingo” charming. Others, who are older than my parents, have said, “Don’t call me ‘Mr. Ackerman’. It makes me old.” (I still call him Mr. Ackerman and today he teasingly replied, “Hello, Miss Melissa” as if I would be insulted – which I wasn’t.) It’s a little awkward, but I don’t plan on calling a 60-something-year-old-man “Ken” anytime soon.

It’s not that I think I’m oh-so-wise and deserve respect at the age of 33. I haven’t done that much nor have that much wisdom to have earned some kind of obeisance. But the fact that I am old enough to be an 8-year-old’s mother is the only requirement needed to be called “Miss Melissa”. It’s not so much for me but for the child. It is Biblical truth that a young person should show respect to one that is older. Outside of that, it’s just plain rude to be called by my first name as if I were as much a 5-year-old as the 3-foot little person looking up at me.

I’d venture to say the North lost all proper show of respect when they bombed Fort Sumter and started the War Between the States. The war wasn’t over slavery. It was over state’s rights…and a way for the North to stomp all over the values of Southerners. I’m happy to say they didn’t completely succeed. But they’re still trying. Happily, I can be just as stubborn as my Southern forebears. And maybe teach these Yankees a thing or two along the way.