When Rules Are A Challenge

Thoughts from readers on this one would be appreciated.

Live alone, no arguments. Live social, arguments, or if you prefer, disagreements.

We can escape conflict about the thermostat and almost everything else, living alone. But it can get boring and lonely. So we try to partner up, and most of us like to go for drinks, lunch or dinner, just to be with people.  We can't all succeed at this, even when we want to.

It can be hard for some of us, socializing, because we live in a world with social expectations and rules.  To have friends we want to follow those rules to fit in, but they are often subject to change and not everyone has the innate ability to comprehend the wisdom behind them.

There are overt rules, the spoken ones, the ones written on the black board: Ask for a pass before leaving the classroom. You'll find them in the employee handbook, too: No sexual joking around with employees. 

The covert rules are assumed; you won't find them posted anywhere. Once they may have been spoken, but they are now so much a part of our social fabric that we no longer over think them, they just make sense in context. Before leaving the house, make sure to wear clothes. What sociologists call traditional roles are characterized by dozens of covert rules, rules like this one: Of course I'll make dinner while you read the paper or check your email. I'm a woman.

We like making rules, all kinds, and as soon as we're in a position to do so (think parenting, managing, teaching), we'll oblige, take full advantage, probably because we like predictability even more than we like power.  Predictability makes us less anxious.


Curfew at 11:00 for the kids.  
Morning coffee ready at 6:00 a.m. 
I’ll throw in a load of laundry if you mow the lawn. 


Must we discuss this? 

Rules take out the mystery out of life, and everyone gets to where they want to go on time.

No rules, no set objectives, less consensus no end to conflict about the way things should be. Add one extra person to a decision making process, spend hours in committee. (There is an old saying: three Jews, five opinions.)

So we work hard to make life systematic, predictable and organized. Some may grumble about it and do their own thing, and they will find like-minded others (with whom they will ultimately argue about other things, assuming their relationships are healthy). We strive, however, for a social contract full of the promises that make life sweet, a little easier to handle.  More predictable.

Or  choose to live alone.  No arguments. It is pretty hard to live life all by yourself, but you can see why people do.

It isn’t the overt rules that really get to us, so much as the covert ones, those unspoken social expectations. When we can't read people's needs it seems we're lacking in manners. But even when we do know the covert rules, meeting the expectations of others can be difficult, if not impossible.  For example we might know that at a cocktail party we should socialize, converse. If we don't, people think we're snobby.  But that's very hard for some of us.

The social lubricant of alcohol helps grease those wheels. Alcohol is even referred to as liquid courage, and is on the menu to ensure everyone is more likely to be socially lubed up. This is ironic because some of us, finally disinhibited with the help of drink, are likely to make socially unacceptable, insensitive remarks, even behave offensively, perhaps remove clothing that should stay on, or consider boxing a social sport.

Those on the autism-Asperger’s spectrum have difficulty with social cues, don't interpret body language well, nor twists of vernacular. Shipwrecked in public, no idea what to say, unable to read people, not knowing why people do what they do, they must learn to respond appropriately, to validate, repeat back what is said to them to stay on topic.

But even when they do, they still suffer a seemingly irreparable empathy deficit. Even when coached by therapists (Ask questions! Don’t talk about yourself!) they are likely to act and to feel stiff and awkward, or talk too much.

Whether (1) suffering from a disorder on the spectrum; (2) gifted with empathy but socially phobic;  or (3) embarrassed or impaired by any number of the mental/behavioral disorders, some prefer to hide in a proverbial shell, if not an unoccupied bedroom or bathroom. Understanding that the social ideal is to be schmoozing (Yiddish, rhymes with losing, means gabbing away) this can feel beyond challenging.

As a society, we're beginning to recognize that the social skill we value is not within everyone's reach.  Reading about the lives of people who survived their social issues, i.e, Look Me in the Eye by John Elder Robison, and Quiet: the Power of Introverts by Susan Cain (I haven't read that one, but it sounds marvelous) is helping. The psycho-educated are more prone to compassion, less judgmental, even those of us who like rules, who live by them.

The idea is to give the socially less smooth the benefit of the doubt. Most people need tolerance, love and friendship, and it is good for the rest of us, if we can, to provide.

The good kids, the ones who play with the kids who aren’t fitting in? They should get prizes.

The trend-- that we become aware of our differences, and forgiving, for we are so similar-- is going to continue. The ecosystem, the big one we call society, will somehow collectively worry less about conforming and raising SAT scores, more about raising psychological and emotional IQ’s, the understanding of those  differences, the importance of making fewer negative assumptions about others.

We might consider this kind of education, which is everywhere, in books, on television, on the Internet, if not so much in schools, the therapy of an entire society. The object of change--everyone.  

The dream systems intervention.

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Sexual Harassment and Some Older Guys

My father, a very macho man, but one who considered himself enlightened, still liked the differences between men and women.

Age 89, we're in the car on the way to dialysis, he has difficulty breathing, walking.  Just living, really, is difficult.  Not much daily desire to flirt with anyone.

As a Navy guy he likes nothing better than a good joke, any type of joke, has no idea that the 'blue' jokes can be a form of sexual harassment in the wrong company.  In years past he and his friends swapped these on the Internet, printed them out to read while playing cards. You can't trust your memory at some point.

I tell him a joke about being old and losing your memory.  These, to my dad, are hysterical, even if you're in a ridiculous amount of pain.  Then I share with him about a new business, working with a lawyer and a few other professionals to teach sexual harassment prevention, relationship safety, make the world a safer place, safer for women and men. It's an empathy thing, relationship safety.

He gets it right away that men, too, can be sexually harassed. As a businessman, a guy with his own store, he never liked it when anyone harassed a minority, any kind of minority. People are people. No one gets that better than storekeepers. You meet all kinds of people minding the store.

He's excited about the new venture (not so new), and very curious.

"I used to tell the women how pretty they were-- at work, anywhere-- I complimented women all the time." He stops and takes a breath. "Was that sexual harassment?"

Maybe. Knowing you, Dad, probably. Even if you didn't mean it, if they didn't like it, you might not have been able to tell, so you would continue doing it.

"But it made them feel good! I was just making people feel good! There never was any doubt about me wanting anything other than that. And your mother worked in the store.  I told her she looked good.  I told you that you looked good."

You flirted with other women right in front of her.

"So is that bad? She knew I wasn't doing anything."

Words are everything, poor guy has to hear from his daughter, at his age.  They matter, especially from the boss. If a woman tells you to stop flirting and you don't, then you're harassing her.  You can be breaking the law.  It's harassment before she tells you to stop, but all the more so after she tells you to stop. It's not about you, not about what you think, it's about her, how she takes it, how she feels.

"I just thought . . . She smiles.  It's a compliment.  She knows me, there's nothing wrong with that."

We're telling guys, and women, too, I tell him, not to comment on new clothes, not to say anything about how an article of clothing fits someone, or how their make-up looks. Stay away from anything that might make a person think you're coming onto them, or you find them sexy.

"I'm glad I retired in time," he tells me. "I couldn't have changed."

He's on his way to dialysis, and there are women who are going to be prodding and poking, helping him in and out of the chair.   They like my father.  We both know that they've probably heard worse.

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