She dressed me with whatever crap was left more or less intact from my two older brothers. Browns and grays. We was poor, you see.

We was so poor, we only had baby pictures taken of the first child: after all, they all look the same—little gelatinous blobs from the unfortunate marriage of cunt eggs and baby batter that nature would have been better served fried on a plate.

Hand-me-downs, and home-made terry-cloth jumpers. Including a stars and stripes jumper for Independence Day.

I never got a special outfit for Independence Day, so you were lucky.

(Ref: “Three Yorkshiremen” sketch. A very good update here.)

"So how did your Mom dress you when you were a toddler?”

I do remember that it took my Grandmother much longer than my mother, and she continued to do the dressing thing until I was in early teens. Maybe it was sick, but the hell with it, I was lazy.

Childhood pre-teen years… I wore little suits and ties. I learned to tie a tie the same time I learned to tie shoes. Think navy blue blazer with white piping.  As we got older, we wore whatever we wanted outside of school or family events...though we actually got dressed for Sunday dinner which I guess is a bit bizarre. In Canada I quickly adapted to my choice of local style trends (rather bemused by preppy trends of the 80s).  My parents were fantastic, not insane or overly (or particulary) strict or religious or anything like that. My family is from the Westminster /Kensington /Chelsea part of London (So decidedly soft, I wanted nothing more as a lad than to be, or at least be perceived, as being of harder stock more I’m sure like dimmer’s childhood in Scotland).  The way we were raised placed a great deal of emphasis on mannners, being polite and courteous in a way that would probably seem absurdly formal or anachronistic to most growing up in the U.S.A. We excused ourselves from the table, if we were getting up from the table ourselves to get something, we would ask our siblings if they wanted anything. We said “thank you” not “thanks” and certainly did use any profanity of any kind at home (well other than between each other when the parents weren’t home). We had a particular way of answering the telephone at home viz “Passion residence, Tapestry speaking”. We learned formal dinner place settings and what forks, spoons and wine glasses were for what and an endless number of, I guess, archaic things. 

To this day people meeting me often mistake my somewhat formal politeness as an affectation or being insincere.  It is neither. It is natural. It’s the way I was brought up and I don’t see the point of working at not doing something that is so automatic. In my personal life with friends I am as casual as the social norm.  These things allowed me to get away with being a carousing lothario in school and university. Well to a limit.  No doubt I was perceived by many as an arrogant prick (I was then, am not now).

I think that’s lovely. We had family suppers as well, and yes, you had to be excused for anything. We were each permitted one glass of wine (Riunite—Christ, we weren’t rich), and we knew the proper placement and use of silverware. At a certain age I was sent to charm school, where I learned how to get in and get out of a car like a lady, among other things.

Much of our instruction had to do with the typical strategy among middle class families to elevate the social status of their children. You know, classical music, piano lessons (we couldn’t afford a piano, so no-go there), French instead of Spanish.

Maybe in response to that yearning, I rebelled, and tried to unlearn as soon as they would teach me. But in the end, charm school won out. I could never quite discard what our instructor, a former model, told us: the purpose of manners is to make those around you feel comfortable (she did not invent this aphorism).

Okay, now I’m going to go spit.