My own personal horror story:

When I was about 3 or 4, we went to go pick up my dad from work and were waiting in the parking lot. This big, hairy, bearded man passed in front of our car and I – with the windows wide open, of course – pointed and announced to my mother, “Look, Mom! It’s a G’RILLA man!”

A few times I have contacted the person I sent it to – after waiting a long enough time.

What is the deal! A good friend of mine who is very well mannered – I have given presents to her kids – outside of their parties – and NO COMMENT. NO THANK YOU (verbal or written). It is so unlike the rest of her character.

We always did the Mr. and Mrs. thing until the adults insisted they call them by their first name. My husband is retired military and when we spent the weekend with our friends and her parents, kept calling her dad Mr. (last name.) He finally told my husband, “The name is Darryl, by the way.” My husband responded, “Yes, sir!” And that’s all he would call him.

I agree with the others who said modeling the manners is the best way to teach them. But keep in mind the age of the child and their ability to pick up the habits and remember them. It takes a while. But treating the children with respect usually leads to the children showing respect in return. And how the mom & dad treat each other also speaks volumes. I’ve seen lots of couples who set very bad examples and then wonder why their kids are acting out.

The scene:

We lived in a cute, little cottage house on a flag lot, and all the windows are high off the ground- ie the kids can’t see through them. Our front yard was behind our front neighbors back yard, and two of our neighbors (left and right) shared a common fence with our backyard.

It’s Saturday. Every one of our neighbors is out on their years, with their kids.

John and I send the kids (again who are 5 and 6) to the backyard to play so we can talk.

Talk. I swear.

So, all is hunky dory and Jonathan decides he needs to know what we’re doing.

So he stands below our bedroom window yelling. Screaming. And since we are teaching him not to do this, we ignore him.

He gets worked up into a panic and screams- at the top of his dynamically acoustic 5 year old lungs- “ARE YOU TWO DOING S*X?”

Yeah.

We were the talk of the annual picnics and get together for months to come.

“Mama! MA!MA! Dere’s dat lady dat made da stinky poop in da bafroom!”

as she jumped and pointed conspicuously at an unfortunate soul a few lanes over.

Me: “Oh, Darlin’, now, sshhh, calm down, lookee here! kleenex! batteries!”

Her: “It IS her, Mama! She has de same ugwy shoes!”

Proof, my friends, that one cannot, in fact, die of embarrassment. No matter how much one might wish to.