Courtesy: A Comeback!

Today’s financial problems for America began in the late 1950’s when we as a people concluded that we needed more than one bathroom in our family homes. 

Some might think that’s an odd statement, but for those of us who experienced a one bathroom home, it is not strange at all.  Folks born well after the 1950’s never knew the chilling thrill of ‘holding it’ while a parent, brother or aunt finished their ‘business’ in the solo bathroom of the family home.   If an adult was in the facility we stood first on one foot then the other, and from time to time rattled the locked door handle, and said in quiet meekness, “are you almost done?  I really have to use the bathroom.”  If it was another kid we had license to harangue them as much as possible.   Of course we would get the same back in due time. 

Most of us never wet our pants.  We might have gotten close, and yes, for some of us who were less fortunate there might have been a few slight mistakes from time to time, but being inconvenienced, even if our pants got wet, didn’t kill us really. 

The sharing of the one and only bathroom, especially on holidays and family get to gathers, when all the older aunts and uncles and ancient grandparents showed up, could get dicey.  I remember my mother saying before the festivities began, “you get in there now and go to the bathroom before they get here, and once there’re here if you have to go, make it quick, and don’t you dare stay in there too long.”

I could pee on demand.  We all could.  Not once in all those years did I have to run outside to pee in the bushes.  That would have been absolutely out of the question and terribly improper.   One bathroom was a fact of our day to day lives.  It was a moral, physical and emotional conditioning, and we were better off for it.  

That one bathroom was the common denominator of everyone in the family.  We acquiesced at its power over us, and revered it’s stoic utility.   We paid homage to this simple room with   brightly colored wallpaper sporting tiny smiling fish and sea horses swimming through a forest of kelp while mermaids listened to some magic message from a shell and lobsters, crab and other sea critters floated around her.

 Each bath had a medicine cabinet with a mirrored door that hid a multitude of old aspirin bottles, ointment, shaving cream, and cold medicine.  Our bathtubs had feet then.   Above those massive tubs a shower head teetered from the top of a long, thin pipe that ran vertically from the tub faucet upward, and a 360 degree shower curtain unfurled from a circular pipe that dangled precariously from the ceiling.    Bathtubs seemed wider and longer back them, but maybe it’s just that I’ve filled out a little that nowadays the tub appears to be smaller than before.  I’m sure it’s the tubs fault rather than mine. 

When dad showered and shaved each morning, we rushed in after he finished as all those strong and manly talc and shaving lotions lingered heavily in the air.

Clear slender jars filled with tiny round soap that never made suds, and a couple of those little towels that my father always complained were too small to dry a man’s hands clung to the  ledge of the bathroom sink.    A portable radio sat on top of the toilet tank so our parents could listen to the morning news.

We took bubble baths back then.  Short ones because someone was always waiting for the bathroom, but none the less bubbles just like the ones on television commercials with a pretty girl’s head sticking out of a sea of bubbles.   We never could get as many bubbles as the commercials, but we tried.

One toilet taught us frugality both in consumption and effective scheduling.   Four family members meant four baths each day.   Four moderate length showers depleted our normal sized hot water heaters, especially if mom decided to wash a load of clothes during bath time, so we carefully scheduled.  Sometimes the effort was mostly intuitive.  We took our baths when no other major water usage projects like washing dishes or clothes took place.   For example, nobody dreamed of showering at 10:30 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays because that’s when mom washed clothes.  Likewise, 8:00pm -9:30pm at night was off limits because dad bathed after the dinner dishes were washed.   So between the dinner dishes and dad’s bath one of us could sneak in a quick shower.  When I say quick, I mean quick because we were constantly vigilant of the level of hot water in the aging hot water heater.   Nothing was worse than a blast of cold water half way through a shower.  Therefore, we learned not only to quickly shower during peak hot water usage periods, but we learned not infringe on another person’s shower schedule.   The reason was simple.  We were courteous of another person’s needs and desires because we wanted them to show us the same courtesy. 

The toilet was also a place for brief reading.   Our house rule was if you took reading material into the toilet you were to remove same from the premises.  In other words if a Mad magazine or a comic book was left unattended in the bathroom, mom would make sure it ended up in the trash. 

There were those times when my sister and I raced into the house from playing outside just to see who could get to the bathroom first, rush inside, and lock the other one out.  All that was great fun unless, when turning the corner and entering the hallway where the bathroom was, we saw a parent or guest or other adult making their way to the restroom then all bets were off.  We put on the brakes and waited quietly in the hallway until, as we used to say, “our teeth were floating.”   Once again, it didn’t kill us, and we learned volumes.

Unbeknownst to us in those years, the single throne of a residence was a teacher of many fine and heartfelt lessons.   We’ve forgotten many of those lessons today, and I believe the people of this country would be much better off if there was only one toilet in each American home.

All of these memories are to make a point.  The lessons of the one bathroom per family home are no longer being taught, and that lack of training has contributed dramatically to the demise of this country.

One bathroom taught us to behave civilly within the confines of the walls of our homes.  We communicated our needs and desires, and learned from one another.  We learned that an older person always has preference to a younger person because an older person’s body was no longer as able or strong as ours therefore, we defer to an older individual by being patient. 

We learned to be considerate to another human being’s needs.  I wish I had a nickel for every time I told my sister, “go ahead.  I don’t have to go as bad as you do.”    Being considerate taught us to hold our tongue and control verbal outbursts toward one another because next time it might be me whose going was more critical than the other person, and that realization came home to roost every day by teaching us the classic trade off of tit-for-tat, or more to the point:  Don’t be a jerk!  Be polite, be kind, and remember that each of us is an important component to this microcosm of a family community, and each has an invested right to use the toilet.

We incorporated these considerations into our repertoire of learned behavior, and we carried those behaviors of civility, communication, patience, and consideration into the rest of our lives, and we called it – courtesy.

We were courteous to one another.  We learned that intentional behavior at home.   We were intentionally courteous to siblings, parents, guests in our home, grandparents, and everyone else who shared the common human need of the bathroom, but it didn’t end there!

When we left the safety of our homes, and ventured out of the front door and into the huge world outside we realized that there were also people in that world just like the folks at home, and we treated those ‘new’ folks with our well established learned behavior of courtesy, and they were courteous to us because, like us, their houses had only one bathroom!  

Life was slower in those days; we made time to visit with neighbors over the back fence.   Talk to the youngster sacking our groceries in the supermarket and spend more time reading books.  Seems we spent a lion’s share of time living those simple teachings of courtesy, it became a valued and worthwhile personal investment we shared with one another.   Thus, for a very long and serene time the world was more courteous than it is today. 

To tell the truth, courtesy has no drama.   It’s brief; a fleeting gesture or nuance.  Holding a door for a stranger or allowing a car to turn in front of us.  It’s not a big deal or even a blip on a radar screen.  It’s only a second of spontaneous good behavior that makes both the giver and receiver feel better.   Nothing more than a second of personal contact demonstrating the concern each of us possess for another human being. 

Curious though, when we do not receive an appropriate courtesy from another, the lack of simple courtesy leaves an indelible scar on us.   It stays with us, and sometimes colors our moods. 

I bet you remember the last time someone cut in line in front of you at the movies?  I do.   I can remember it as well today, as the day it occurred.  I also remember those events when a stranger went out of his way to extend a courteous gesture which made my life momentarily more pleasant. 

To tell the truth, most of us won’t mind getting a little bump on the arm, or cut off in traffic, or being treated rudely by a clerk in a store if only the offending person will turn to us and apologize.  

I stopped to buy a pastry the other morning at a busy bakery shop.  People milled around,  and  I stood in what I thought was the line to the cashier.   I looked around as I waited patiently to pay.   A woman stood behind me with a sour look on her face.   Suddenly, I realized I had inadvertently stepped in front of her.  

“I’m sorry,” I said backing out of line.  “I wasn’t paying attention, and just crowded in front of you.   Excuse me.”  I walked behind her.

“It’s okay,”  she beamed.   “Thank you!”

The point is I made a mistake.  I could have stood my ground, faced forward knowing that cutting in front of another was wrong.   Maybe I would have gotten to the cashier thirty seconds before the woman, but what would that have accomplished?   I was wrong, and I corrected my mistake, and we both felt good about the interchange because it was the right thing to do.