Monday, June 16, 2014
Podcast 3 - Sound Philosophy
Here we are creating but not sharing, tsk tsk indeed
This is a new-ish venture with my #CollaboIndustries partner and wellness supervisor @jenelleleighc
Find out all about her on here
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Sharing
I remember the day I learned what sharing meant. My friend from school, Frankie, came to my house to play. He lived up the block from me. I was in first grade and Frankie was in second.
Having an older sister eight years older than me, I never really had to share my things with her. She wouldn't want them anyway. I did share at school all the time, the things eligible for sharing were usually not my own personal property though. So when Frankie started playing with my Speak & Spell while I played with my Cabbage Patch Kid, my head exploded with jealousy. Like I'd never see that Speak & Spell in my own hands ever again, that if I didn't defend myself I'd never have the joy of hearing that cyborg voice repeating words I typed back to me.
In my blind rage, all I could see was my thing in someone else's hands. For no other reason than the fact that it was mine, Frankie was not welcome to play with the red plastic talking keyboard and screen. "You can't play with that," I said.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because I want to play with it." And I genuinely did want to play with the Speak & Spell at that exact moment with his fingers clamped on to it.
Off in the distance from what felt like a different dimension, I heard my sister say "He can play with that while you play with Cole Cliff." It felt like the voice could have been coming directly from the Cabbage Patch itself. If we were on Sesame Street, the word "sharing" would have appeared beneath us.
I had a very self-aware moment where I realized that sharing is being willing to let someone else be in charge of something that I care about. Then I had a melt down. Tears feel inevitable in the corners of that memory. But overall the lesson was real and I took it to heart.
About three years later, Frankie and his family moved to another neighborhood. Coincidentally another neighbor kid, Simon, moved in and we started hanging out. We became big fans of X-Men cards that we traded and compared notes about. I had at least fifty at one point.
One day in fifth grade, an anonymous source tipped me off that Simon stole my X-Men cards from my coat pocket. A fist full of cards double wrapped by a rubber band, gone. I felt betrayed. My pride was hurt. I am willing to share but friends do not take from one another like that. Wounded and proud I knew exactly how to deal with these feelings as a ten year old.
I never talked to him again. Never explained myself to him, my mom, or his mom…just stopped talking to him, looking at him or anything to do with him really. It was awkward in tenth grade when we were in SAT Prep class together. I couldn't imagine that conversation.
"Hey Simon, yeah I stopped talking to you because I heard that you stole my x-men cards in fifth grade from the coat closet. Did you?"
Awkward.
I ignored him instead. I don't know what lesson I'm supposed to have learned from the Simon story. But it felt like sharing in a sense too.
Having an older sister eight years older than me, I never really had to share my things with her. She wouldn't want them anyway. I did share at school all the time, the things eligible for sharing were usually not my own personal property though. So when Frankie started playing with my Speak & Spell while I played with my Cabbage Patch Kid, my head exploded with jealousy. Like I'd never see that Speak & Spell in my own hands ever again, that if I didn't defend myself I'd never have the joy of hearing that cyborg voice repeating words I typed back to me.
In my blind rage, all I could see was my thing in someone else's hands. For no other reason than the fact that it was mine, Frankie was not welcome to play with the red plastic talking keyboard and screen. "You can't play with that," I said.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because I want to play with it." And I genuinely did want to play with the Speak & Spell at that exact moment with his fingers clamped on to it.
Off in the distance from what felt like a different dimension, I heard my sister say "He can play with that while you play with Cole Cliff." It felt like the voice could have been coming directly from the Cabbage Patch itself. If we were on Sesame Street, the word "sharing" would have appeared beneath us.
I had a very self-aware moment where I realized that sharing is being willing to let someone else be in charge of something that I care about. Then I had a melt down. Tears feel inevitable in the corners of that memory. But overall the lesson was real and I took it to heart.
About three years later, Frankie and his family moved to another neighborhood. Coincidentally another neighbor kid, Simon, moved in and we started hanging out. We became big fans of X-Men cards that we traded and compared notes about. I had at least fifty at one point.
One day in fifth grade, an anonymous source tipped me off that Simon stole my X-Men cards from my coat pocket. A fist full of cards double wrapped by a rubber band, gone. I felt betrayed. My pride was hurt. I am willing to share but friends do not take from one another like that. Wounded and proud I knew exactly how to deal with these feelings as a ten year old.
I never talked to him again. Never explained myself to him, my mom, or his mom…just stopped talking to him, looking at him or anything to do with him really. It was awkward in tenth grade when we were in SAT Prep class together. I couldn't imagine that conversation.
"Hey Simon, yeah I stopped talking to you because I heard that you stole my x-men cards in fifth grade from the coat closet. Did you?"
Awkward.
I ignored him instead. I don't know what lesson I'm supposed to have learned from the Simon story. But it felt like sharing in a sense too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)