When
I feel like a social oaf and make boneheaded mistakes lacking in any
trace of the social graces, I step back and look at the true origin
of the blunders. This helps me to stop whipping myself out of
embarrassment and consternation—to break the recursive loop of
asking myself again and again how could I have been so rude, callous,
or cruel. For example, yesterday when I was visiting a church, I
asked a lady of uncertain age if a soloist of about 20 years-of-age
was her grandson. She quickly corrected me that, no, rather the
little toddler was her grandson. After the service I attempted to
engage a long-time acquaintance in a rather lengthy catch-up of
happenings only to have him reluctantly cut me short because he had
immediate responsibilities to perform. In both cases, I sought to do
the loving thing executed with the ease and grace of an ice-skater
gliding effortlessly on the ice--only to find myself sprawled out
spread-eagle on the floor. With my heart so much in the right place,
how could I have blundered so badly?
The
ultimate source of virtually all social blunders is a lack of
complete knowledge. A full and complete knowledge of the situation
and the person or persons encountered would allow me to do the right
thing--not just try to do the right thing. But in social situations
we never have complete knowledge especially when in unfamiliar
environments. Therefore, I simply must accept the fact that so long
as I do not retreat into a shell like a clam (which itself would be
impolite), I will be vulnerable to committing faux pas now and then.
On such occasion I must remember that people are largely
forgiving--especially since they realize that I could not have known
all the facts—and that, after all, my heart was in the right place. I
remember in the hospital when my wife Kathy was seriously ill, a
nurse wanting to be congenial and compassionate asked if the patient
was my daughter. I explained that no, she was my wife. I hope and
pray that the nurse understands how much I appreciate that she made
some personal connection with me at this painful time, and it means
absolutely nothing to me that she did not have complete
knowledge--she had knowledge enough, my wife was deathly ill.
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