By By Anne Horrigan Geary

Copyright berkshireeagle

Our niece is visiting from Salt Lake City. She was born in Massachusetts but hasn’t lived here for most of her life, although she visited occasionally when she was growing up.

She has never been to the Berkshires before, so we were trying to think about places we could take her. We suggested driving up to the top of Mount Greylock because it’s both a nice ride and the view from the summit is lovely.

She asked: “Is it a real mountain?”

We assured her it was the best Massachusetts had to offer but agreed we could call it a “hill.”

As someone who had a view of the Wasatch Range — a part of the Rockies — from her front yard much of her life, she is used to “big” mountains. As someone who lived on the flat sands of Cape Cod for many years, I think our hills are just right, rather like Goldilocks would. Having visited the western states many times, I do appreciate the grandeur of the Rockies. I’ve traveled through them by car and by train. One particular journey took us through Bear Tooth Pass into Wyoming, a spectacular ride (unless you’re a little kid in the back seat who is prone to carsickness). Michael’s lament after our week’s ride through the mountains was: “Please, no more scenery” — another point of view.

Sometimes we forget that our perspectives are formed by many things such as our experiences, our heritage, our families, our education and what we have read and heard about people and places. My immigrant ancestors on both sides brought their traditions and also their prejudices when they came to America. Melting pot though it might be, not everyone assimilated at the same pace. When my dad and uncle wanted to purchase a garage in our neighborhood, their offer was accepted largely because of their Irish surname, while another offer from someone with a different type of name was firmly rejected.

When a family moved into our neighborhood who spoke in halting English, my mother welcomed them because she remembered when her mother’s English was imperfect, too. They also bonded over their gardens. Other neighbors were not so kind or generous.

Point of view is affected by age, as I have learned and relearned over the past few decades. When we moved to the Cape, we were dubbed “wash-a-shores,” and I soon noticed that obituaries prominently identified some people as “native Cape Codders” as if this were a badge of honor instead of a mere accident of birth. Our kids are official Cape Codders both because they were born there and because their ancestors arrived in Sandwich in 1642. Neither gives a toss about the appellation.

Some folks insist that senior citizens become more conservative as years go by. Personally, I don’t find that to be true politically or sartorially among my family and friends. We present a united Democratic front on all occasions. We have been known to wear white after Labor Day, and some of us are attracted to T-shirts in loud colors with enigmatic messages. We support liberal causes, humanitarian charities and we vote. We wholeheartedly applaud nonpartisan movements that promote kindness, generosity and joy.

We would never expect homogeneity among the diverse citizens of our beloved country, but we expect civility and respect from all people, especially those in public office. That’s what hurts the most when we hear the vitriol and untruths spewed from recognizable mouths.

As a retired teacher who required students to follow the rules of decorum and respect, I would send all these transgressors to detention where they would write on the blackboard 100 times: “I will not lie or cheat or call people names.” Let’s get back to basics before it’s too late.