‘Please’ and ‘Thank You," signs of hope

This is my weekly column for the Sunday, March 15 edition of the Hibbing Daily Tribune. A version of this piece ran as an essay on KAXE‘s “Between You and Me” on March 7.

‘Please’ and ‘Thank You,’ signs of hope
By Aaron J. Brown

As a relatively young parent of relatively young children the words “thank you” have come to mean something different, even better than what they used to mean. With three boys aged three or younger, life in our house has come to resemble a Mad Max sequel released straight to DVD: survivalist behaviors, loud yelling and a constant rumble over limited resources. Thank goodness they don’t have dune buggies. With an incomplete vocabulary, the needs, wants and complaints of our boys can only be articulated in grunts, screaming and primitive sentences. That is, until the words “thank you” changed everything.

Like most parents, we tried to instill basic politeness in our oldest son Henry when he started talking. Please and thank you. Please and thank you. Please and thank you. But somehow, perhaps through genetics or some ancient code of children, his compliance with these rules always came across as forced, like a hostage video. He would say thank you, but not in a way that made you happy.

(Like a robot) “Thank you.”

It’s a fool’s errand to try to get a preschooler to respect tone of voice as an important component of human communication. “Sometimes I feel like you aren’t being sincere when you talk to me that way … MISTER.”

Last fall, Henry went to pre-school for the first time while his younger twin brothers Doug and George finally learned some primitive speech skills, too. At preschool, Henry seemed to pick up that saying thank you wasn’t just something you say, but something that has actual meaning not just to the person being thanked, but to you too. My wife Christina tells the story about making dinner one evening and, in the midst of a high spirited romp through the kitchen, Henry stopped, looked at her and said, “Thank you for making dinner, mama.” It started sneaking into daily conversation.

“Hey, bud, here are some Cheerios.”

“Thank you, daddy. I like Cheerios.”

The clincher came when some of Doug’s first words was a friendly phrase that sounds a lot like “thanku.” George’s words are harder to decipher, but he shoots a winner smile every time you give him, well, any kind of food.

Why does all this matter? Why should you care about these kids you probably don’t know? What makes this different than the endless prattling of your co-worker who purports that his 7-year-old has “ice vision” and will be varsity by his freshman year? Well, you see, they’re human. HUMAN! Saying thank you is a human thing to do. Animals know only domination and submission. The wolf doesn’t say thank you to his wolf-mate for letting him eat the choice hunk of meat; he just takes it. Humans have learned that humility keeps a society going without constant violence and rancor. And this is so reassuring to a household that has known increasing violence and rancor among tiny boys determined to pummel each other over graham crackers. There is a light at the end of our tunnel, and thus, the tunnel of humanity.

Being grateful to people who help you, helps everyone. Please, say thank you.

Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune. Contact him or read more at his blog MinnesotaBrown.com. His new book “Overburden: Modern Life on the Iron Range” is out now.

Comments

  1. You are insightful to link the societal niceties with hockey. In any sport, we (well, not me, exactly) do the skills in a wooden way, with each movement forced before we do it in a smoother movement. Then we finally do it with muscle memory rather than thinking. So bravo for you and your wife! It is SO nice when the teacher or parent comments on how polite our children are.

  2. I enjoyed your post on saying ‘Thank You,’ and look forward to the day when you progress to ‘I’m sorry,’ said with a snarl and a barely restrained lunge by the perpetrator. We, too, raised three boys and I appreciate with humor your’s and Christina’s efforts to civilize the pack. I will say that much of the civilizing happens at the dinner table, and to take advantage of the moments. Carpe diem.

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