Family. Dinner. Rules.

“Children today,” she began as her hands kneaded the knot out of my right quadriceps. “They don't understand the rules.”

Physical Therapist Alison is old-fashioned: family dinner at seven and don’t call at the last minute to say you won’t make it. Her eldest is studying to be a missionary. The middle one goes to community college and the girl is a high school senior.

“When my kids go to their father’s, they eat whenever they want, they come and go. Curfew? Forget about it.”

“Ouch,” I holler
.
“Oh, did that hurt?” she says without pausing. The room of pt patients looks up and goes back to swiveling legs in the air.

“My daughter’s only one I have any trouble with. That’s normal,” Alison hastens to add. “But she has to learn the rules.”

“How do you enforce the rules?” I ask, rolling over so she can get that tight spot on my back. “I mean, what would you do if she didn’t come for dinner?”

Alison stops to think. Valuable seconds pass—my massage, don’t stop my massage! then her hands get back to work.

“I don’t know how. Well I guess she just has to. I know they don’t have to do anything when they go to their father’s. They come in whenever, take their food to their rooms so they can eat in front of their pcs and hang out on their cellphones. I suppose I could take away her cell phone.” She sounds uncertain.

Pretty drastic, like taking away the car keys back in the day. Even worse: how would Alison keep track of her kid without a cell phone? I wonder how certain Alison is that she’s in charge. She pushes with both thumbs and moves off this uncomfortable topic to a more general rant.

“Nobody reads any more. My daughter does her Hamlet homework with an outline of the story on the computer screen. She doesn’t think she should have to wade through the language when she can just learn what the play’s about. But I tell her, the language is important. It’s important to know how people spoke long ago.”

She shakes her head impatiently because that does sound pretty feeble. I don’t suggest anybody read Sanskrit just because once upon a time it may have been spoken. It bugs Alison that she can’t remember exactly why it’s important to read Shakespeare's words because her own English class was a long time ago. I am so lucky that my physical therapist appreciates these refinements.

And hates to let the rule of homework go.

“You read Shakespeare in the original language also because it’s the assignment.
Like learning the multiplication table. And it’s also quite poetic, once you get into it.”

I agree completely. “See ya,”does not so melodiously sound upon mine ear as "Good night, sweet prince." And boy, doth it warmeth my heart to hear a New Old Fart complain about the Awfull State of Children Today.

I ask myself, would I have gone to libraries.com for the trot and the translation into modern English? Alas, I am not completely pure, myself but I am glad to report that libraries.com would not let me copy and paste their text into my text.

And, as an Older Generation who complained about hers, I am delighted that Alison's public school education has educated hers. Their ways were not so hopeless after all.

Alison gets both hands into my back. She rolling now.

“You can’t live with your parents forever. Rules are important if you want to have a job and pay your bills. If you don’t understand how to get up and go to work, you’re screwed. These are the rules.

“Kids today can’t make change for a quarter. Work, ha! My middle kid gets an intern job and he doesn’t have to show up until noon. The supervisor, or whatever you’d call him, says just put in the hours somehow. That’s not a job. Somebody’s got to open the store. You know I don’t think kids have any idea of what a family is, either. Scary, isn’t it?”

Ouch again!

But it’s not all bad. Alison’s Number One Son doesn’t own a cell Phone because he’s studying to be a missionary. When he graduates he’ll dedicate his life to service in underdeveloped countries. Right now he’s learning jungle survival. Missionary colleges teach counseling, ethnomusicology and developing worship communities—which is evangelizing, true. But if they dig wells and vaccinate against smallpox, I will suspend my skepticism. Centuries of history tell the awful story: for many, many years pious Christians missionaries have, in the name of Jesus, enslaved indigenous people, broken their spirits and taken their lands.

“Is your son a Mormon?”

Alison shakes her head as she lowers the table and I sit up. “Baptist?”

“No, something like ‘Twelve Tribes’. I’m not really sure.” Not a lot of religious dogma going on there. It seems that now Number One Son doesn’t have to show up for dinner, she's busy showing up for her daughter. Enforcing the rule of family supper at seven.

Where will you two be in ten years?" I ask.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be all right. By then she’ll thank me for drilling all the rules into her,” Alison says. “I see us getting along really well.”

We'll see how the rules look in ten years. I’m thinking, maybe we'll be geo-tracked and ready for family dinner at seven. Family. Dinner. Rules