Too polite? Or, no eagle eyes?

I'm wondering how many alert readers out there zeroed in on the spelling error I purposely left in my "Spell Check" post two days ago. So far, not one soul---not even Florine---has written me a veiled note to hint to me the error of my weighs.

I'm more inclined to believe that civility is still alive and well in this crazy world of ours than I'll accept that folks just didn't notice that misspelling. And, that's a good thing, I think---most of the time. When do we cast civility aside in favor of painful, sometimes embarrassing honesty?

Take the story of a former student who fashioned a fake booger out of Super Glue, pressed it to the lower side of her nostril and went to the classroom next door, walked up to the teacher, and asked her a question about the math assignment. Not once did the teacher say a word to the young lady about the young lady's monster-sized booger, begging for notice.

Then, there was the principal, whom my sister said looked exactly like Ichabod Crane once when she saw him mysteriously walk past her classroom window in a raging rain and wind storm. Looking like Ichabod Crane was bad enough for this style-impaired soul, but the day he walked into the band room with his pants unzipped, surely someone should pulled him aside and told him. They didn't.

Of course, with this situation, we must consider the audience. When is an audience of teenagers gonna show consideration for a principal already noted for looking bad when he's looking even worse? Probably never. There is an unwritten principle among most teens that forbids aiding and abetting the other side, especially when it's the principal---especially the same one known for stuffing his always-wrinkled, baggy suit pants inside his Wellington-style barn boots and coming to school.

I can remember one day at noon in the hallway when this same guy summoned me for a conversation about some school issue. He was tall. I was shorter. He was eating an apple. The juice and its accompanying pith was draining down both sides of his face.

Did I stop in mid-conversation and say, "Hey, you might want to get a handkerchief and wipe that stuff off your face"? Heck no. I was so mortified while staring at the yucky sight that I could hardly come up with responses to what he wanted me to say, let alone throw in a helpful hint to clean up his chin.

One time I got caught with my pants unzipped--at school. It was in front of a class of "stoners." They weren't actually stoned all the time, but they sure wanted to "stone" anyone who passed the speling tests because it wasn't cool in their minds at the time to pass anything except joints during their weekend parties.

I was fortunate that day. My pants were unzipped because I'd just left the room for a moment to go to the ladies' room. In my haste to not leave that bunch of yahoots alone too long, I forgot to zip before coming back. Before I had the opportunity to experience another of my many humbling days in front of teens, a note appeared on my desk, from my thoughtful English aide.

"Don't look now, but your pants are unzipped," it stated. I looked her way. She smiled. I wheeled around and quickly wrote something on the blackboard, allowing me time to zip and save myself from humiliation one more time in my klutzy life. The stoners never saw. I was relieved in more ways than one, and my aide, Sherry Marks, endeared herself to me forever.

Why, though, is it so difficult to bring ourselves to be honest when frank honesty could be helpful? Seems like that same feeling we get while bumping into and talking to someone who knows us, but we don't know them, or, worse yet we do know them, but---for the life of us---we CANNOT THINK OF A NAME to go with this dearly beloved, long lost buddy.

I think the same bodily emotions occur in either situation. Buy time. Keep thinking really hard. Keep talking---about anything topic that will save us from the inevitable moment of exposure. Pray that the name comes. Pray that the poor little girl feels the booger hanging out her nose and removes it so we don't have to say anything.

I don't know if these social situations will ever get solved, but I do know what I read. I read that scientists are discovering these days that, as people get older, there's something in their brain that allows our prior inhibitions about blunt honesty to gradually evaporate. And, with the baby boomer population fast approaching that age of oldness, I have a feeling we'll have to be very careful about our errors and about our allowing food to dribble out of our mouth.

Instead of Art Linkletter's famous claim that "Kids Say the Darndest Things," we'll be entering an age where "Geezers Say the Damnedest Things." Gotta adjust the language to the times!

Someone's gonna notice, and they won't be too embarrassed to tell us. Now, what's that word I spelled wrong the other day? Anyone? Anyone?