When I was a young boy, I remember constantly being scolded over and over by my Father on how to be polite.  "Don't yell."  "Watch your mouth, dammit!"  Apparently, I was always saying or repeating something that made me either sound smart, or gave me instant attention. 

I had realized early on that being impolite, or downright rude--often makes people 1) not only remember your name, and 2) gives you a position of authority over certain people's feelings--but, that 3) they will forget what they were saying.  I didn't realize at the time that these three things are the only sense of power a rude, obnoxious child can really have.

Assuredly, the reasons behind my rudeness had little to do with whom I addressed the rudeness to.  It had alot to do, I found, with the fact that I really either didn't matter much, or, felt in myself a sense of looming insecurity. 

Insecurity was probably the motivation behind the first twelve or thirteen years of my formative years, sad to say.  Fear, timidity, self-doubt, and anxiety.  I knew somehow that I was always on the losing side, left out of the loop, on the wrong side of destiny.  So I worked with what tools I had.

But, luckily for me, wisdom finally knocked on my door, or rather--I accepted it as my teacher, and not a bit too soon.  All too soon, I came to learn that what I had misunderstood for sounding smart, was actually just being obnoxious or obtuse, and that being the center of attention can be achieved just as easily by a car-wreck as that of a brilliant performance.  It is easy to point out an obvious truth; easier still to manufacture a new one.  What is hard, is to understand the hidden truths, which actually do exist--and to skillfully wield them one after another, never showing your hand. 

It's that kind of realization where you realized "they were laughing at you, not with you." that makes you change from ad hominem rudeness and inference, to something that is more responsible and more admirable.  I then came to understand that I had actually always, almost as a rule, said or behaved in a way that communicated the exact opposite of my hopes, spoke to the worst parts of my nature, and actually affected my efforts with a negative result, in every instance. 

The people whom I lashed out at either never forgot, never forgave, or, worse even--found the easy task of slamming me back with the wisdom or strength which escaped both me and any possible comeback worthy of spouting.  This then made me forever forgettable.

Dad always said, "It doesn't hurt to be polite." And, "It is good exercise to be courteous."

Exercise indeed, especially when thrust in the face of grown people with no home training.

When we are polite, when we are "disarming"--we bring strength and admiration to our effort, to our argument--even against the most vociferous opponent, or most skeptical audience.  When we are polite, and never rude, people instantly relate to us, and respect us as people.  They feel insecure attacking a kind person, who commands respect.  Who says, 'Please" and "Thank You."

Points at a debate are not scored as at a boxing ring, nor at a home run derby.  The object is really a sense of promise, loyalty.  How loyalty is won--is done so in much the same way as through a musical performance, a fine restaurant, or a work of art--through both conscious and unconcious harmony.  Communion.

So our words, and their tone, is most important.  Especially when we have little else working for us. 

So I have often thought that when we are at our weakest, most open to attack--most vulnerable--simple politeness and courtesy works as a best defense, and a best offense as well.  It works the best on those who think the very worst of you.  If nothing else, at least one will have earned respect.

So whenever I overhear someone else being rude, uncourteous, impolite--I smile.  It is knowing not only the chasm from which such behavior surely takes its root, but also--the level of respect it is sure to communicate to a wise adversary or to an observant audience, and the likely odds of such persuasiveness.