In a world where formal pronouns have disappeared from almost every language, and where good manners are not merely rare but actively ridiculed, we are gradually turning into grotesque versions of Shrek. Even the dwarves from Tolkien’s tales, as portrayed in films of recent decades, are boorish creatures who grunt and scrape the mud from their boots against the edges of one of the beautiful chests belonging to the Baggins family. We should not be surprised that educating children and adolescents today is more difficult than cracking open a coconut. But who is to form the younger generation when most adults themselves are ignorant of the art of conversation and manners?
Do not think that I have installed myself onto the bench of a self-appointed judge of a decadent world. Not at all. Everything I have said above comes from the bitter experience of my own failures. I will not mention them here. In most cases, they would be downright embarrassing. Suffice it to say that, at fifty-five years old, I possess enough memories that make me blush to seriously question my own manners and, at the same time, ask how I might become better. For one can never guide
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