BEING MISS MANNERS

Dear Spike:

You manners are absolutely charming — "a breath of fresh air," we've been told by no small number of people — and it makes me very proud to see what I polite young lady we've raised.

But this morning, while were at the park, I came to the rather unsettling realization that we may have turned you into a bit of a oddity among your peers.

The first little girl you approached today had her brown hair in pigtails, just like yours. And she looked to be about your age, or perhaps just a few months older. You walked up to her, stretched out your hand and introduced yourself. "Pleased to meet you," you said. "What's your name?"

The little girl's eyes widened and she shot a glance around the playground for her mother.

"Pleased to meet you," you repeated, taking a step closer. "What's your name?"

Without a word, the little girl pushed you away and ran off to find her mom.

Strike One.

The next little girl was a blond-haired kid. She was also just about your age, I think.

"Pleased to meet you," you said, extending your hand. "What's your name?"

When the little girl didn't lift her hand to shake yours, you reached down to show her how. But she yanked her arm away and began backing away.

Undeterred, you followed her. "Would you like to play together?" you asked.

And then she ran.

Strike Two.

I'm sure I could have stepped in to make the recreational arrangements with either girl's parent, but I try my best to mind my own business when we're in your world. I figure that it's my job to get you ready to make friends — and your job to actually make things happen.

You didn't seem particularly bothered by what had happened, but I was a bit heartbroken — particularly as I watched you play alone for the next few minutes. Every now and then I saw you looking up at where the two girls were playing — together — on the other side of the playground. They'd connected, I recognized, when the blond girl gruffly ordered the brunette to follow her up the stairs to the slide.

I guess that's how it's done.

The next girl was a redhead, with curly lockes like Little Orphan Annie. Absolutely darling. She was easily a head taller than you, but I'm guessing she was about a year your junior.

"Pleased to meet you," you said, extending a hand once again. "What's your name?"

She didn't reach out to shake your hand. And she didn't share her name. But she didn't run away, either, and the two of you followed one another around for the next five minutes, or so, until she decided to run off to play with some other kids, leaving you to play alone once again.

It wasn't strike three, but it wasn't a home run either. And, I suppose, most things in life are that way.

I'm not sure what benefit you'll derive from being Miss Manners — on the playground or in life — but just the same, I'm glad you're such a polite young lady.

Being proper, respectful and kind might make you a bit odd, but the people who really matter won't mind. I promise.

Love,
dad