I Was Watching /Pan Am/ Instead of THIS on Sunday Nights? (Part 1)

In Season One of Downton Abbey, the sweet but simple kitchen maid, Daisy, is so caught up in her crush on the conniving footman Thomas, she begins to adapt her actions to mirror his in the hopes of catching his attention and winning his favor.  At one point in Episode Four, she makes an unkind crack about one of the houseguests.  Mr. Bates, the noble valet, turns to her and remarks, simply, "Don’t be so nasty, Daisy.  It doesn’t suit you.”

That’s all.  That’s all he has to say, but the shame apparent on Daisy’s face makes it clear that the correction struck home.  His admonition was not cruel or self-righteous but, rather, rooted in the fact that he considered her character to be better than what she was currently displaying.

Oh, that we should all be fortunate enough to have a Mr. Bates in our lives—someone who gently but unashamedly corrects us when we succumb to the temptation to be less than our best selves; someone whose disappointment stings more and cuts deeper because their own character is marked by both integrity and humility; someone who sees us not for how we are acting at the moment but for who we truly strive to be.

I have been blessed with a Mr. Bates—a friend who is well-loved by everyone because of her naturally sunny, hilarious personality and who pours out kindness on everyone in her orbit.  Yet she is not above simple comments of correction to remind others that she knows they are better than how they are acting.  (Well, I say “others” when, really, I’ve only ever witnessed such moments directed at myself.  Perhaps it is because she has the tact and class to address such issues in private . . . or maybe I’m just the only person in her circle who requires such reminders.)  The point is that for more than half of our lives, since the time we were about 15, she has been willing to do the sometimes rather uncomfortable task of saying (without exactly saying it):“Tiffany, you’re better than that.”  If I get too caught up in my own snark or too self-congratulatory in my own sarcastic observations, she will often make a quiet comment before continuing the conversation in a more positive direction and carrying on as if nothing happened.  I never feel she is judging me or thinks of me less as a person.  Instead, she simply reminds me of who I want to be, and can be, and am—so long as I don’t opt for the low road simply because it’s easier or funnier or makes me feel clever.

Oh, that we should all be fortunate enough to have a Mr. Bates, indeed.  They are the ones who remind us that we are made of better stuff than this world.