The path from the farmer's market leads along the river, and I was walking home, heavily laden with vegetables and fruit, when I noticed a boatful of young teenagers (high school freshmen? They all look so young to me now) coming in my direction from behind.

I listened carefully for the usual remark, and wondered what it would be. My mind flashed forward to a scene of myself, explaining to a judge, why I had decided to wastefully pelt these kids with my precious produce. I was also wondering, in another part of my mind, whether I would miss my peaches or beets more, and which ones would be more accurate to throw. I wished I had picked up some overripe tomatoes just a few minutes before, to make sauce with and to express myself more precisely with. With the anniversary of 9-11 approaching, I really didn't feel like smiling and turning the other cheek at a threat, an accusation of terrorism, or my favorite phrase (which I haven't heard here yet), "Sand Nigger."

The chatter from the boat dimmed as they noticed me, and I tensed slightly. Finally one of them yelled, "Nice Beard!" Wow. Midwestern politeness, not the norm for local young males and clear members of an out group.

"Thanks!" I responded. "I grew it myself!" I felt quite pleased now, I had given a good comeback, and shown them that I appreciated their friendly expression of curiousity. I didn't know if they could hear me over the din of their engine, but it didn't matter much to me.

Around 5 minutes later, the boat had turned around, and was headed back at me. The same kid yelled, "Nice Beard!" "Thanks," said I, pointing at my beard to demonstrate that I had heard and understood correctly. This time I tried to speak louder, "I grew it myself!"

The repetition, however, was tiresome. I thought that kids at home would have found a way to make the same point, but not use the same words. Perhaps, "Love your beard" or "I want a beard too" the second time round.

Is midwestern triteness the price of midwestern politeness?

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