Something troubles me about the way we communicate with each other these days. I have been trying to put my finger on it. When I was growing up, the people I encountered on a daily basis used terms of endearment without flinching.
“Here you go, sugar,” said the librarian.
“Honey, you’ll find the syrup on aisle nine,” said the cashier.
“Sure, sweetie,” said just about anybody’s mom. “Have another cookie. I’ll make more.”
Today’s American way is to eliminate the friendly proclivity to share terms like these. They have been called offensive, trite and deemed as a form of sexual harassment. I once sat through a miserably dry presentation on how not to address coworkers.
The PowerPoint narrator said something to the effect of “Using terms like ‘babe,’ ‘honey’ and ‘doll’ when addressing a fellow employee is not acceptable and grounds for written reprimand and even dismissal.” Kind of makes you wonder what it would cost you to call your boss “dogbreath” or “backstabber,” doesn’t it?
Don’t get me wrong. I fully understand the potential for abuse of these terms. Sexual harassment in the form of a “babe” or a “sugar” to elicit intimate responses is surely as vile as tossing out expletives or physical groping. Delivered with salacious or vindictive intent, most words can be deemed inappropriate in any setting. It is the effective and solely harmless use of a “hon” now and then that seems to be in order for a country where we consider ourselves more than civilized and kind. I confess to grieving the fading custom of sharing a momentary but sincere concern for the comfort and disposition of others.
Maybe you are the sort who chafes at a waitress who calls you “sugar.” Maybe you are the kind of gal who insists you are nobody’s “sistah.” You might be a grown man who squirms when the VIP refers to you as “son.” But personally, I like it when the waiter asks, “What can I get for you, babe?”
I realize how politically incorrect that is. But I also realize how very distant and self-absorbed and sensitive we all have become thanks to the fear of appearing, well, insensitive. We greet each other with stone faces and respond with handshakes, never hugs.
Surely everyone should bear the right to say, “Please don’t call me ‘honey’” and have the request honored. I am the first to defend the protection of personal space and freedom of speech. Yet, I like to think that there remain people in this country who find pleasure in a pat on the back and a heartfelt, “Way to go, darlin’!”
Once while working as a second grade teacher’s assistant, I overheard two of our students in covert conversation.
“Yeah, I like Ms. Twedt pretty good,” one reported. “But for some reason, she thinks my name is ‘Hon.’”
After that, I dropped the “hon” and used their names consistently, until one of the more timid children nudged rocks on the playground with her toes and asked, “Why don’t you call me ‘Hon’ anymore?”
Recent studies by the National Science Foundation as well as Duke University and the University of Arizona indicate that loneliness is a rampant problem in our nation, an unhealthy condition that contributes to heart disease and depression. We are cultivating a culture of people who are intensely aware of what not to say and deeply alone because of what needs to be said.
So maybe there is a balance that we need to achieve, somewhere between the all or nothing. Perhaps there is room in our daily interaction to extend a greeting for the “babes” and “sweethearts” in our lives. Chances are, you know the people who will not take kindly to such and will avoid rocking their world.
For the rest of us, a “Thanks, hon,” is music and medicine for lonely hearts and ears.
Send an email to kristentwedt-subscribe@yahoogroups.com and receive a weekly reminder to visit this blog. Columns appear every Friday in The Hattiesburg American. Write to Kristen at krinzgal@yahoo.com.
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