Grammy's Finishing School
I was the only girl in our house and one of only two girls in our entire neighborhood. I was also a clumsy, chunky girl, rough around the edges who preferred being outside climbing trees, riding my bicycle, playing sticker weed war, or wrestling with the neighborhood boys. I was more comfortable in corduroy pants and my scuffed up saddle-oxford shoes than a frilly dress and shiny patent leather shoes. My go-to hair style was a no-fuss ponytail well into my teenage years.
I was a bona-fide tomboy, a reality that troubled my grandmother. “No granddaughter of mine will be a tomboy. I’ll see to that!” she proclaimed on my 13th birthday insisting I spend several weekends with her attending her in-home finishing school—Villa Mont Grammy as she called it naming it after Villa Mont Choisi, a famous Swiss finishing school she’d read about in one of her ladies’ magazine.
“Tsk, tsk! You sit down like an elephant,” she said when I plopped down on her couch as I’d always done. “How unladylike! Sit down smoothly like a lady. Stand up. I’ll show you. Touch your knees to the back of the chair like so. Then lever yourself, keeping erect. Sit down slowly and slide back into place. Don’t wriggle into the chair with snake hips. Assume a pretty sitting posture. Keep your knees and ankles together. Suck in your stomach. Keep your back straight, your shoulders high, and your head up.
“Sitting this way is uncomfortable,” I groaned.
“Stop whining. It’s unladylike. Tsk, tsk!”
I practiced for what seemed like hours eventually passing her sitting like a lady test.
The following weekend she taught me correct posture and the art of walking gracefully. “Stand tall with your head held high. It gives you confidence,” she said, placing a book on my head. “Point your feet in a straight line and glide smoothly. Stay focused and balanced. Don’t look down. Marvelous, Mademoisselle!” she exclaimed attempting a French accent. “Keep your stride small, your spine straight. Square your shoulders.” I inched my way across her living room floor struggling to keep the book from falling off my head.
The next weekend we shopped for feminine clothes. “Look your best every day!” she decreed sending me home with a stylish A-Line dress and women’s pumps. “Wear this outfit next Saturday. I have something special planned.”
“You look fabulous!” she said when I arrived. “Come. Sit at my dining room table.”
“What’s this?” I asked, flabbergasted with the number of plates, glasses, and silverware in one place setting.
“A formal table setting,” she replied explaining the purpose of each plate, glass, cup, and piece of silverware.
“This seems awfully fussy.”
“Tsk, tsk! There’s a reason for the fussiness. It’s dignified dining.”
“Where do I begin?” I sighed, feeling overwhelmed.
“As each course is served, use the outside-in rule’ to determine which eating utensil to use. When we get to the restaurant, just follow my lead. Come. Sit at my dressing table.”
She applied makeup to my face and placed a sparkly necklace around my neck. “A lady never leaves the house without putting on her face or her jewelry. It’s tasteless.” When we walked out the door, she reminded me, “Always be your best and happiest self.”
Such were some of Grammy’s finishing school lessons—lessons that seem passe, almost corny, in today’s world. “Tsk! Tsk!” Grammy would say. “Today’s women can learn a lot from what we women of the past were taught and lived by.” Wouldn’t you agree?
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