the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

I tend to come down on my folks for the stuff I think* they did wrong. I've never written anything specifically to that effect, but I know I sometimes come across that way, particularly in my angrier moments. But here lately when I read the news, I find myself being thankful for what my parents did right.

* It's a matter of perception, isn't it? There are many choices they made that I think I wouldn't have, but I can't know that. They grew up in a different world than I. 

1. They let me be bored. 

My formative years were the '70s, when parents scheduled some of their children's time, but the situation wasn't yet as out of control as it is now. My family was fairly poor and we lived in a rural area, so we didn't do any of that stuff (except for music lessons, which we could take only if we practiced 30 minutes every day). 

This didn't transform us into bored brats, though. If we went to Mother and said, "I'm boooooored," she would find something for us to do. This "something" took the form of an undesirable chore: Go work on the brick pile.* Clean the fence row.** Mow the lawn. Vacuum. Dust. 

* The brick pile was what was left of a chimney from a former homestead on the property. "Working on the brick pile" consisted of chipping mortar off the bricks with a hammer and chisel. My parents eventually used the bricks to build a patio. 

** The same thing well-to-do people hire illegal aliens to do. 

So from a tender age, we entertained ourselves. We made up our own games. We'd disappear into the woods for hours sometimes, climb trees and grape vines, and get tangled in the undergrowth, build "forts." I read and wrote a lot, drew pictures, played with calligraphy, and taught myself to play a guitar with only three unbroken strings. My big brother used an old lawnmower motor to make a minibike and otherwise dabbled in electrical/mechanical things. 

2. Electronic entertainment wasn't a major part of the picture. 

Our lack of electronic forms of entertainment was largely due to the time and place of my youth, and I know it wouldn't fly today. At the same time, I credit its omission with being integral to who and what I am now. 

Notice that "watch television" wasn't in my list of things we did to entertain ourselves. That's because we got our first television when I was about eleven. Watching television was special; it was something we did when our chores were finished, and the amount of time we spent watching television was limited. (It was also eventually used as a negative punishment when our grades weren't up to par; we'd lose television privileges until we brought home a report card to prove we'd raised our grades. I once lost my right to watch television at the beginning of the summer and was forbidden to watch television until I brought my grades up six weeks after the next school year started.) 

There were computer games in my youth, too, of course, but we didn't own any. We played them when we visited friends. They were special, a treat. Otherwise, we had card games and board games. (I once built my own roulette wheel from junk I found in the barn when I briefly became fascinated with casino games.) 

"Easy" entertainments were unavailable, and as a result we became self-entertaining and self-sufficient. 

3. We didn't get an allowance. 

My folks didn't redistribute their wealth to us. We were expected to pick peas and shuck corn and weed the garden and feed the chickens and clean our rooms and vacuum the house and do everyone's laundry and dishes and cook and...you get the picture. In my parents' view, these things were the price of living there. We did our share of the chores--which was higher than my parents' share, since they worked to pay the bills--and these chores didn't earn us a dime. After all, we already had healthy meals, clothing, shelter, and love. 

They have almost ten acres in East Texas, so over the course of two or three summers, we slowly added width and breadth to the lawn until it was about 2.5 acres. We had to mow this with push mowers (not self-propelled ones, of course), so they decided to pay us to mow it, since we needed a bit of incentive. The whole lawn was worth five dollars. We'd all tackle it, and when we were finished, Daddy would decide how much of the $5 we had earned. (I think there was a summer when we were paid a quarter for every pail of peas we picked, too.) Otherwise, we simply didn't have money, so when we did have it, we spent it very carefully. 

This may have been the single best thing my parents did for me: not giving me money or making me feel that I was in any way entitled to it. I still balance my budget to the penny, and I live on only about a quarter of the money I make. I learned free entertainments first and to this day free entertainments are still my favorite. I do not just spend money because I had it (because I didn't ever "just have it"). I also am not comfortable spending money on anything I don't absolutely need (I do it from time to time, but I must first overcome the urge to not purchase). 

Many years ago, when I first began investing, my financial adviser was visibly shocked when he realized that I have no debt (he said only 20% of American households are debt free; I don't know how accurate that is). The next financial adviser--I got a new one when we moved to Alabama--told me, somewhat jokingly, that I didn't blow enough money. He clearly wasn't comfortable building a budget on what appeared to be an unsustainable standard of living. I think my spartan approach to finances may have even struck him as mildly un-American.

(As an aside, much of my "financial success" is due to my middle class sensibility. I believe in paying off bills and investing the extra. Middle class people generally are concerned with their credit scores so they pay their bills, and they try to at least save money to help them be more comfortable when they can no longer work. Some invest their money. These attitudes are associated with environment: Children of middle class families don't think about money like the children of the poor--or like children of the rich, for that matter.) 

4. Our diet was cheap and healthy. 

...and often fresh. We didn't buy cokes* or cookies or chips or candy or cakes/pastries or frozen dinners or even breakfast cereal. We ate very little meat; meat was for special occasions. We grew a lot of our own food, then ate it fresh and froze/canned the rest. We bought healthy and cheap foods, like peanut butter and wheat breads and dried beans, spaghetti, rice, and canned vegetables. Perhaps we did make things from mixes, but I can't recall doing it. Everything--pies and cornbread and cakes and cobblers--we made from scratch. A standard meal was peas and cornbread and greens. Breakfast was scrambled eggs and toast, with orange juice if someone had splurged. 

* East Texan for "carbonated beverage." 

Since leaving home, I've been shocked at much meat people eat, and baffled by the prevalent belief that diets with little or no meat are unhealthy. What hogwash! We were healthy, strong youngsters who grew into healthy, strong adults. 

5. We were different by definition.

This was directly related to the role of religion in our lives. I obviously believe the religious part was misguided, but there are certainly good aspects of being brought up to embrace your differences. If you learn to be comfortable, at a tender age, with not fitting in with your peers, you'll have a lot of adulthood whupped. 

I was taught that I should be different (to be "in the world, but not of it"). This necessitated my acceptance of the peer rejection and teasing that comes with not being "one of them." My parents required that I wear dresses "because that's what girls should wear," thereby ensuring that I was forever "the weird kid" at school, so I had practice at being different early and often. They taught me to be unbreakable when I know I am right, and not to care what people say or think. And you know, when you learn to actually do that--to really not care--you'll find that you're free beyond your wildest dreams. 

Of course, there's some irony in the fact that this very teaching helped me accept my lot years later when I realized why I didn't lose my mind over boys like my peers did. There's even more irony in the fact that I never gave judgment or rejection a second thought when I realized that the term that perfectly describes my religious position is "atheist." 

6. Daddy read to us. 

I cannot emphasize the power of this enough. I'm not talking about Green Eggs and Ham and The Little Engine That Could. I'm talking about him reading to us as we grew up. He'd catch us working in the kitchen, doing dishes or perhaps peeling peaches for canning. He'd select a book from his bookshelf, sit down at the table, and read to us. I remember listening to him read Sherlock Holmes, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, selections from a book he had on college humor, and Mark Twain. His tastes are varied and educated; he'd been an English major before he switched to business. It was only after I began teaching English myself that he told me that the one thing he'd always wanted to do was teach college English. 

7. Mother could do anything with her hands. 

Mother was more or less locally famous for her projects. She refinished furniture, altered fixtures, and on one occasion rebuilt and repaired our piano. She didn't know all the ins and outs of piano work when she began, but she figured it out as she went. She's a perfectionist, too, so if it meant starting over more than once, that's what she did. 

I grew up watching this, and somewhere through there, I absorbed the idea that I could do anything I chose to do, and I could do it well. I have, in fact, refinished furniture and re-grouted bathrooms. I've changed the belts and head gasket on my truck (back when I had more time than money), changed my own oil on several occasions, and rotated my tires. 

Mother infected me with what I've come to understand is an uncommon level of "can-doism." 

***

I'm sure there are more, but these are the items that spring immediately to mind. B'sides...adding more would border too much on sentimental pap, and that isn't my purpose here at all. 

It's just that...our culture strikes me as a little crazy when it comes to parental expectations. Too many parents feel genuinely guilty if their children are bored or not in classes for something most of the day. Also? I may just be speaking to my innate laziness, but I'd probably have been committed years ago had my folks done that to me. I'm an introvert. I need time--lots of time--to myself, unstructured. 

But no matter who you are, what good is being a great dancer and singer and the star quarterback if you don't know how to be alone? Children today may be learning all sorts of useful skills--I'm not questioning that--but all too often, these skills come at the expense of daydreams, self-knowledge, and reflection. How do these children even know who they are and what they want?

I often fear that what we end up with are neurotic children and parents whose sense of self is derived almost entirely from their children's success (because lord knows they don't have time to be their own person anymore). What's the matter with us? 

d