I went to the Black Tomato yes­ter­day, which was a small restau­rant with a decent atmos­phere (though I think it would have been bet­ter at night), which served jazz along with your meals. You could pur­chase jazz albums from the side of the restau­rants, and numer­ous por­traits of jazz greats were hung near the top of the walls. The meals were pretty pricey; the sand­wiches cost over 10 dol­lars, and the 7oz. filet mignon was $24.95. I was really con­sid­er­ing the filet mignon since I so rarely get a chance to go out and eat at a nice restau­rant, but I decided that I had noth­ing to cel­e­brate. I went with a flank sand­wich, which had thinly cut strips of mar­i­nated steak with sauteed onions, and melted cheese, baked on French bread. The put a sort of sweet mus­tard with it, that gave it a spicy, juicy taste, which was excel­lent. I had to get a pint of Strongbow, since they didn’t have Double Diamond. In total it cost me about $20.00.

It was com­i­cal to see what kind of man­ners peo­ple brought to the table. You could tell who was an exec­u­tive by the way they broke their bread, or you could tell who was a admin­is­tra­tive assis­tant by the way they cleaned their teeth with their tongue. I won­dered if their man­ners were a result of their pro­fes­sion, or their upbringing.

Sometimes you can tell what kind of fam­ily some­one has come from, by the kind of man­ners they have. However, there are always excep­tions, as some par­ents with excep­tional din­ner pro­fes­sion­al­ism don’t much care to impart this grace on their chil­dren. It reminded me of what one could tell about one’s par­ents, depend­ing on what one’s chil­dren are like.

Before I knew bet­ter, I would assume that one’s chil­dren were a reflec­tion on what the par­ents were like. Of course, I didn’t even real­ize that I’m not much any­thing like my par­ents, being the igno­rant per­son that I was.

I find it odd that Aaron and I seem to come from very, very dif­fer­ent fam­i­lies, yet we are so sim­i­lar in mind­set and world view. I don’t believe that he expe­ri­enced a ter­ri­ble child­hood, though I believe he was in a worse sit­u­a­tion than me. He was able to deal with it very well, much bet­ter than me at least, per­haps with an intel­li­gence that was born in him. I learned most of what I know through pain, so I’m not sure how he learned the same things that I did.

Some peo­ple I know are very much like their par­ents, in intel­li­gence as well as igno­rance. Yet some peo­ple I know are noth­ing like their par­ents. In these cases, how­ever, the child is always smarter than the par­ents, never the other way around. It’s like an evo­lu­tion­ary process, the way males are usu­ally taller than their father.

Sometimes I wish I could find out how peo­ple become the way they are. What expe­ri­ence could make one racist? What could hap­pen to make one kind, when their par­ents are cold? For the peo­ple I look up to, I’ve always asked them many ques­tions (too many, I sup­pose) about how they learned what they know. It always seems to be a ran­dom answer, never some­thing that’s consistent.

It reminds me of a twin study. Usually twins are extremely close genet­i­cally, so sci­en­tists study twins to see how genet­ics affect psy­chol­ogy, as twins usu­ally share very com­mon traits and per­son­al­i­ties. In this study, two twins are sep­a­rated at birth, and when they are adults after being brought up in very dif­fer­ent fam­i­lies, the only trait they seem to have in com­mon is their zeal­ous­ness for being neat. When asked why he is so neat, one twin responds, “Well, my mother was always so clean, that she forced me to be clean as well”. His brother, when asked the same ques­tion, replies, “Well, my mother was so dirty, that it forced me to be clean”.

I sup­pose that I really do believe that 50% of our per­son­al­ity traits are bred in us, and 50% of them are a result of our envi­ron­ments. That seems to be the con­sen­sus with psy­chol­o­gists today. I believe that some peo­ple are unbal­anced in this respect; they learn every­thing from upbring­ing, or every­thing from experience.

I just wish I knew how (un)balanced I am.