The Columnist Manifesto

The other day, B and I were chatting with the checker at the grocery store. The checker -- probably in her early 20s -- told us that she had gone on vacation with her girlfriend. Where to? Why, her girlfriend's familial home, which included two parents and an authoritarian grandmother. For ten days! The two young women barely left the house, never went out at night, and our young grocery checker had a terrible time.

Well, duh! I wanted to say to the checker: haven't you learned by now that you never, NEVER, spend more than three-days, two-nights under your in-laws' roof, and only then after laying down strict guidelines with your girlfriend about how you will set aside crucial quality alone-time and otherwise both get your needs met on this stressful visit?

I mean, I learned this years ago! Why isn't this information part of our cultural human heritage -- like how to make fire?

Clearly, there are some things everyone has to learn for her- or him- self. We all experience this when our good friends, or children, or nephews and neices ignore our advice. You know the scene: you are describing an enduring truth of human nature that you learned through bitter, painful experience (e.g., "so it was totally obvious that he was just not that into me!") and your young protege looks at you, pretending to listen, but you can see from the telltale glaze in the eye, or the gaze directed off into space beyond your left shoulder, that this thickheaded fool is going to do exactly what he/she wants and not listen to a word you're saying!

So here's my challenge: in 25 words or less, define the two contrasting structures of human knowledge to explain why one kind becomes part of the collective knowledge of humankind whereas another has to be learned by each person for him/herself.

***