Habits, Good and Bad

     All animals have a set of behaviors.  Birds fly south.  Pigs root.  Dogs sniff.  We humans accept other animals’ behavior as hard wired brain circuitry.  It’s genetic.  It’s the product of so many years of evolution that it must have served a purpose in the past and maybe still does.  No matter how hard you try, you’ll never prevent Scamp from poking his nose into Aunt Tilly’s crotch.  Just apologize and put him in the laundry room

     Only humans fight their natures.  Some lower portion of the brain tells kids to blow air out of their noses when they detect an obstruction.  It that doesn’t work, they insert one of their nimble fingers to clear the airway.  Yet, as soon as a mother sees a toddler effectively cleaning his nose in this manner, she attempts to stop him.  “Don’t do that in front of people,”  “Use a tissue,”  “Don’t put that in your mouth,” and “Wash your hands,” are all orders, that mom delivers at a high pitch, when all Junior wanted to do was breathe better.

     When I was young it seemed like all the adults were in on the campaign to stamp out youngsters’ bad habits.  Burping, playing with your hair, twisting buttons until they popped off, and teasing your sister had to stop.  Teachers picked up where parents left off.  On Sunday morning, the minister joined the crusade.

     I was about ten when the bitha incident happened.  The pastor held up five strips of paper with one letter written on the top of each strip.  It spelled "BITHA."  He asked if anyone ever had an illness called bitha.  Though my sister denies it to this day, I saw her raise her hand.  After surveying the bitha victims, the minister rearranged the letters to spell "HABIT" and went on to explain that we all have bad habits that we should confront and overcome.  Otherwise, like a disease, the bad habits will eat away at our better selves.  Of course, I ran home and told my parents that Sis, poor kid, had bitha.  After that, whenever anyone was out of sorts, the first question asked was, "Do you think you might have bitha?"  I’m pretty sure this case of bitha helped my sibling correct her habit of jumping on the band wagon before thinking things through.

     As a result of parental harping, peer pressure, and maturity, many childhood habits like tattling on sisters fell by the wayside.  I gradually took on my parents’ and the pastor’s opinion that I should always work on being a better person.  I don’t smoke and I don’t drink to excess.  I dress appropriately for my age and figure.  I can cuss like a sailor, but I only do this in front of my husband and some friends with the same proclivity.  I was about as good as I was ever going to be until I retired.

     I still get up in the morning, but I have developed a habit of staying in my pajamas.  I turn on my computer and read the news.  I answer my emails.  I blog.  I clean and do laundry.  Why shower and dress to work up a sweat while house cleaning?  I recently got a puppy.  One might think that I would dress in order to take the dog out in the morning.  No, I just went to Walmart and bought a bunch of sweat pants and tee shirts that serve as pajamas.  I appear dressed from somewhere over the fence, but I’m not wearing underwear. 

     Since the invention of the blow dryer, people in super markets and school parking lots have been spared the site of women with curlers in their hair.  I recently decided that I like my hair better when I roll it up rather than blow it out.  Since no one manufactures those hair dryers with the hose and the big plastic bonnet any more, I’ve acquired another bad habit of appearing in public with a head full of rollers.  So far, it’s just been to go to the mail box and to accompany my husband on a bike ride.  We rode in the park on a rutted gravel road the day that I wore my rollers.  I have a suspicion that he didn’t want to be seen with me on our neighborhood thoroughfares.

     I also clean the house less because I would rather read, or work on crafts, or spend time with friends.  If I am expecting guests, or if the sand and mulch tracked in by the dog gets too gritty under foot, I vacuum that small area in front of the door where it shows most.  The rest of the house can wait.  

     I know that it’s March 2012, but without a job to tie me to the calendar, I’m never sure of the date or day of the week.  I thought that was another bad habit that I had slipped into since leaving work; however, looking back, I think working made me uptight.  I’m not uptight now.  I’m so relaxed that I sometimes have to make apologies.  I’m not telling my sister, but I’ve come down with a bad case of bitha, and I hope there’s no cure.