Please Pass the Manners

Please Pass the Manners

The Braille Monitor

May 2003

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Please Pass the Manners

by Barbara Pierce

Barbara

Pierce demonstrates that cutting a piece of meat isn't complex, it just

takes practice.

From the Editor: The following article was written for

Future Reflections, the quarterly magazine of the National Organization

of Parents of Blind Children and appeared in Vol. 20, No. 3, Fall 2001. Since

then a number of people have requested that we reprint it in the Braille

Monitor. In writing the article, I was addressing parents of blind children

because through the years they have been the ones who have asked me such questions,

but the information may also be of interest to blind adults who never had the

benefit of parental guidance at the dinner table. It is almost impossible to

overstate the importance of good manners and dining skills when sharing a meal

with other people. I hope that Monitor readers will find the information

useful. Here is the article:

Introduction

My earliest recollections of conversation at the dinner table

include a periodic but continual commentary by my mother: "Hold your fork

properly." "Keep your other hand in your lap." "Take the

first piece you touch." "Sit up straight and bring the fork to your

mouth." "Chew with your mouth closed."

I suspect that most adults have similar memories. But I am

not at all certain that most people who were blind as children have the same

set of memories. Blind people certainly miss the chance to observe other people's

behavior at the table in order to model our own on what we see.

The result is unfortunate. With real distress a sighted friend

told me of having lunch with a young blind professional whose table manners

were so disgusting that my friend entirely lost her appetite. I might have disregarded

such a story as the reaction of a finicky observer if I had not remembered Eva.

When I was in high school, one of my best friends moved away. She and I had

eaten lunch together for years, so she called me in some distress shortly after

the new school year had begun. She found a blind student in her class, so her

instinct was to see if they might become friends. She noticed immediately that

Eva sat alone at lunch. She soon discovered why. The girl's table manners were

so appalling that no one wanted to sit across the table from her while she was

eating. High school students are not known for the delicacy of their manners,

so the mind boggles at trying to conceive of the behavior that would revolt

kids that completely.

One wonders how such situations come to pass. I suspect that

the answer is that a combination of influences shaped these two people and thousands

more like them. Obviously, good parents don't want their blind children to be

socially unacceptable, but they think they don't have any good way to teach

the child how to do things correctly when "Do it like this" is an

insufficient instruction.

Anyone who has ever spoon‑fed a baby knows what a messy

business that can be. But we rapidly get used to the process and the mess. As

most children get older, the extent of the disaster area gradually shrinks,

and eventually civilization dawns. But the parents of a blind child may never

quite notice that other kids of the same age are making substantially less of

a mess. These parents are so happy to have the child begin to use a spoon that

they forget to insist on graduating to a fork. They assume that fingers are

the only way for the child to recognize the contents of the plate or bowl or

get difficult items to stay on the utensil. If the child huddles over the plate,

much less food falls onto the table or floor. And there you are.

Then there is the matter of time. It is easier and faster

to cut the child's meat than to insist upon and struggle through an unwanted

lesson on how to do the job for himself.

I don't know that I have any particular light to shed on the

subject of table manners specifically or social skills for blind people in general.

I do know that this subject keeps coming up and people ask me to talk about

the subject. So I have decided to see what happens if I try to organize the

things parents and I have talked about in the hope that it may be of some encouragement

to other parents and their children.

I have no lock on the right way to do things. I have found

some tricks and techniques, but others probably work just as well or better.

Look around and observe the blind people you spend time with at NFB functions.

Choose someone who handles himself or herself well in social situations or at

meals and ask that person questions about how to assist your child. Federationists

are usually happy to help.

Making Distinctions

Before you can effectively help your child to become a poised,

confident adult in all sorts of social situations, you must learn to distinguish

between arbitrary social conventions, which should not be imposed on people

for whom they are meaningless, and behavior that avoids offending or distracting

other people. Consider the general rule that one looks at the person speaking

or to whom one is speaking. Even totally blind people find it valuable to adhere

to this convention because sighted people find it difficult to pay attention

to what a person is saying when he or she is looking in some other direction

or has lowered his or her head.

On the other hand, the convention of slicing a loaf of bread

beginning at the end nearer the slicer's dominant hand seems to me completely

arbitrary. I am right‑handed, but I cut from the left end of the loaf

so that I can guide the path of the knife with my left hand. When I cut bread

at a restaurant table, people sometimes comment that I am doing it backwards,

but I see no reason to develop another technique since nothing about my method

is offensive or distracting. Perhaps I do some things that are distasteful to

sighted people watching, but no one has mentioned anything like that to me since

I was about twelve. And that is the kind of honest feedback blind people count

on good friends to give them in private. It is certainly a service you can always

provide your blind child, assuming that you balance tact and honesty to fit

the circumstances--dinners in public are no time to call reminders down the

table to an older blind child.

Mapping the Place Setting

I am a great believer in teaching a blind child to set the

table. If he or she can arrange the flatware, napkin, glasses, butter plate,

and cup and saucer correctly, the child is already well on the way to managing

a complicated place setting in an elegant restaurant, at Great Aunt Sue's Christmas

dinner, or at your boss's wedding reception buffet.

When I sit down at a restaurant table, I begin with discreet

exploration of my place setting. Finding the napkin can be an adventure. I check

to see whether the silverware is rolled up in the napkin, laid out in a group

on one side, or actually lying with forks to the left and knives and spoons

to the right. If I have not found the napkin to the left or wrapped around the

silver, I begin an inconspicuous search for it while reorganizing the utensils.

While adjusting these, I make sure that the sharp edge of the knife faces the

plate. I check the service plate, if there is one, or the cloth in front of

me for the missing napkin. If it isn't there, it might be on the butter plate

or fanned out on the table above the service plate. When all else fails, I check

the water glass.

All this reconnoitering should be done as inconspicuously

as possible. I keep my hands low and adjust the plates, glasses, and implements

just a bit even if they do not require repositioning. This is the time to check

the size and number of glasses. A child can move wine glasses back so as to

avoid picking up an empty glass when hoping to find water or milk. Teach your

child always to notice the weight and temperature of any glass to confirm that

it holds what the blind person expects to sip.

Surveying the Plate

I gather from what people report to me that far too many parents

through the years have allowed their blind children to establish the location

of food on a plate by touching it. This is a hard habit to break, so you would

do better never to allow your child to begin. The fork makes a fine divining

rod. I admit to having little patience with finicky eaters who refuse to eat

anything they don't care for. Blind people are far better off if they are not

indulged in preferences not to have two foods touch each other or to insist

on eating all of one food before beginning the next. I recognize that insisting

on mature behavior in this respect may open you to some battles, but teaching

a young child to behave graciously will pay off in the long run.

By and large a blind person can figure out what is on the

plate without receiving a clock‑face description. I firmly refuse this

rigmarole from well-meaning wait staff. After all, I ordered the meal, so I

know what should be on the plate. Experience will guide an adult in identifying

lemon wedges, orange slices, or other partially inedible garnishes. But I do

think it is appropriate and sporting to mention to a blind child that a lemon

wedge is at eleven o'clock or parsley is at six. One can then either use the

lemon, eat it when it arrives at the lips, or set it aside on the butter plate.

As for identifying which food is where, a quick circuit with

the fork will usually identify large things like baked potatoes, small vegetables

like peas, and firm things like chops or slices of meat. Mashed potatoes and

vegetable purees have a slushy feel that cannot be confused with firmer objects.

I survey and begin tasting the things that are clearly easy to pick up on the

fork. One taste confirms the accuracy of my conclusions about what I have found.

I then note that location: one thing identified. I make my way around the plate,

tasting and probing with the fork. At a restaurant, or anywhere I may expect

garnishes or other efforts to present food beautifully, I keep in mind that

something unexpected may appear on my fork. I am not above asking a sighted

companion what I have captured before I raise it to my lips, if the weight and

balance of the fork suggest that a nasty shock may be in store for me.

Learning to cut meat is not difficult, but it does take practice,

so trying to master the skill should not be undertaken in public. To begin with,

a blind person must learn what a bite of appropriate size feels like on a fork

or spoon. (I encourage you to insist on your child's using a spoon only for

soups, sauces, ice cream, and the like; too many blind people arrive at adulthood

without having mastered the fork. With practice the fork is actually easier

to use than a spoon for most things.) Eventually your child will learn how a

forkful of the correct size feels. Your job is giving impartial feedback: that

bite was too big.

All blind people occasionally bring an empty fork to the lips,

especially when the weight of the fork is unfamiliar or the food is hard to

spear. In my view such mistakes should be ignored. The blind person knows perfectly

well what has happened and certainly has no motivation to repeat the error.

So the less notice you take of the occurrence the better, unless you can make

a constructive suggestion. Such advice should be given in a low voice in public

or at home.

The secret to cutting meat is to find an edge or an end and

insert the tines of the fork at a bite-size distance from the edge in order

to cut the bite. The knife can then be laid along the back of the tines so that

the fork provides a directional guide for cutting. When the cut is complete,

the knife is laid across the back of the plate and the fork switched to the

dominant hand. This is the moment to lift the fork slightly to determine the

weight and balance of the piece cut. If it is too large, pick up the knife again,

reposition the fork by holding down the piece of meat with the point of the

knife to release and reposition the fork if necessary and make a second cut.

All this sounds simple, and it becomes second nature, but it takes practice.

Tough meat is always a struggle, and chops, steaks with bones, and small poultry

are particularly tricky. I don't know any blind adult who hears with delight

the news that Cornish game hen is on the menu.

Here are some suggestions that you may find helpful in assisting

your child to master this important skill. Begin with meat that she likes and

that is fairly easy to cut: ham, turkey, fish filets, pot roast. All these have

no bones and should not be tough. Be sure that your child is hungry when you

begin. If he is having trouble cutting the meat, leave the potatoes and vegetables

off the plate till he can cope with the meat alone. You can try cutting your

meat with sleepshades on and provide a running commentary on how well you are

doing. Let your other children try to cut their meat without peeking. The object

is not to demonstrate that mastering this skill is impossible. It should give

family members an appreciation of the challenge and may help you suggest useful

techniques.

Bread, Butter, and Backstops

The rule for everyone is that bread should be broken and buttered

bit by bit as it is eaten. At home this usually means taking a roll or slice

of bread and putting it on the edge of the dinner plate, unless you are using

butter plates. If the blind child has set the table, he or she will know whether

butter plates are present and whether each person has a butter knife. Usually

the family passes a stick of butter or container of spread. The common butter

knife is passed with it, or each person is expected to use a personal butter

or dinner knife. Help your child anticipate what is being done at the meal.

As an adult she will have to learn to draw her own conclusions, but you can

help to guide this learning process by asking leading questions or providing

information directly.

A tub of spread is easiest to use, but do not do so always,

or your child will gain no experience with a stick of cold butter. Restaurants

make this process particularly challenging because one never knows whether wrapped

pats of butter, unwrapped pats, a large shaped block, or a bowl of soft spread

is coming. Here is where I break my own rule of never touching. I take the container

in my nondominant hand, just touching the butter with the edge of my thumb so

as to determine what I am dealing with. Then I use my butter knife with my dominant

hand, making sure to include the part I have touched in the portion I take.

Obviously, if I contact paper wrapper with my thumb, I just take one pat and

pass the rest immediately.

I use the same sort of maneuver to butter the bread. I hold

the piece of roll I have broken off and am preparing to eat in my left hand

and move it so that the edge of my thumb is just touching the butter on the

plate. I can tell pretty precisely how much butter I am putting on my knife

without obviously measuring it with my finger. Once the butter is on the knife,

it is fairly easy to transfer it to the bread. Spreading it to the edges is

a matter of practice and the temperature of the butter. I suggest that you begin

with soft spread and progress to pats and sticks of butter. The suggestions

for having the family help your child to learn to cut meat work as well for

bread- and roll-buttering.

One of the hardest things for your child to learn to do efficiently

will be to clean his plate. The temptation to use that nondominant hand as a

backstop is nearly irresistible. A piece of bread solves this problem very neatly.

Even if he does not then eat the bread, it has provided an acceptable wall to

gather food with the fork and push against.

Salads, Desserts, and Sauces

I have never conducted a survey, but I would guess that most

blind adults with good table manners would report that salads have provided

a large number of their most embarrassing moments. Being a lady, I will refrain

from saying what I think of people who use very large salad-green leaves, oversize

cherry tomatoes or tomato wedges, and large onion rings to compose their salads.

But your child will have to learn to cope with such hazards. If I can do so

conveniently, I remove onion rings. I don't particularly like them, so avoiding

them is no disappointment to me. If I liked them or when I cannot remove them

to a butter plate before beginning the salad, I handle them as I do large lettuce

leaves: I cut across the salad several times before beginning to eat. (This

is my solution to eating long pasta as well.)

If I manage to spear a cherry tomato, I can usually decide

by its weight if it is going to be too big to fit into my mouth. Having it on

my fork already makes it easy to cut. Olives, croutons, radishes, and other

rolly or skittery salad items are easier to deal with in a bowl than on a flat

plate. You might start salad-eating lessons with the easy things and build up

your child's skills to cope with the more difficult.

Salad dressing is like syrup, sauces, or cream. When possible

I prefer to serve it with a spoon or use a small packet of the liquid. I think

it is fair to say that without a ladle or other way of measuring the liquid,

there is no reliable way for a person with no usable sight to serve a liquid

like this without touching the stream. That is what I would do if I were faced

with the necessity. I drink my coffee black, and I often eat a salad undressed

if I cannot control the dressing or have it served in a cup on the side. A weight-watcher

trick works well for blind people who don't want to use all the dressing provided

by most restaurants. Ask for the dressing on the side. Dipping the tines of

the fork into the dressing before spearing a bite of salad provides a little

dressing, but not too much.

What I have already said applies as well to desserts. Using

the fork, one can usually locate the point of the pie slice or the shallow end

of a piece of layer cake. Perhaps the biggest challenge with an unknown dessert

is to decide whether to pick up a fork or spoon before beginning. One must learn

to check for dessert fork or spoon across the top of the place setting or on

the plate.

I will admit frankly that angel food cake and sponges are

very hard to cut; they mash flat and lose all their volume before I can get

a piece to my mouth. I don't serve them. Maybe someone else has mastered these

cakes, but I avoid them. Your son or daughter will learn to make such judgments

if you help him or her understand the importance of managing food gracefully

and competently. People who can eat most foods neatly usually prefer to dodge

the ones they cannot, and that is how it should be.

Conclusion

I have not bothered to talk about using low vision in eating.

I was a low‑vision child, and it got me nothing but trouble until I learned

to ignore what I thought I was seeing. As with so much else in mastering the

skills of blindness, children are better off learning how to manage dining without

vision so that, if the lighting is not good or the color contrast is not great

enough to allow for accurate use of vision, the child is not rendered helpless

or foolish. Leaning over to inspect the plate looks strange to other people

and can result in gravy in the hair or on a tie or necklace. The child who depends

on seeing the plate will find it hard to sit up straight or keep his or her

head up for conversation between bites.

Dining is essentially a small part of all social interaction.

The blind person who puts off other people with poor manners or bizarre contortions

in order to see what is on the plate or serving dish will eat alone or only

with those too gauche to object. In short, it is never too early to begin teaching

your child the techniques of gracious dining, and it is never too late to begin

breaking bad habits.

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