Most Saturdays, my friends Heidi and Catie and I meet around a small table outside of the Record Exchange and participate in what we like to call "Writing Group". It is, indeed, exactly as it sounds. We bring our notebooks and we buy our $1.00 cups of coffee and come up with topics and time our writing. Both Heidi and Catie are legitimate, talented writers. I just love to write, and feel honored that I get to sit at their table. After we finish a piece
, we take turns sharing what we've written. Only able to speak for myself, I find this practice to be both humbling and therapeutic, but more encouraging than anything. The writings from these sessions typically aren't "show pieces", rather rough drafts that may or may not grow up into bigger works. I've spurred some of my own writings into blogs on this very site.
Today, however, I would like to share with you something that I wrote at our last group. The topic, as given by Catie, was themed "Share With You". The idea came from a poem she read aloud to us, and it was a cleverly written list of things the writer would like to share with a child; in turn, we carried that theme into our own writings. It's an interesting thing to consider. Children are so much smarter than adults. They sop up their environments and like a biscuit. We adults do not give them nearly enough credit. We lie to them, thinking it's for their own good. We mock them, talk down to them, trick them. And they learn this from us! For shame, adults, for shame. Anyhow (sorry for the rant), I have read and re-read my own few paragraphs on the subject and thought, "That's not half bad." So I read and re-read my few paragraphs to Shay and he said, "That's actually good." (Always surprised at the good, that one). So I'm going to now share my few paragraphs with you, though it's nowhere near a show piece. However, I think the subject is thought provoking, and I would be remiss if I didn't encourage you to consider what you would share with a child in your own life.
Here goes nothing:
The Dalai Llama spoke to me once (granted it was through a television screen, but I'm absolutely sure that he was talking to me), and said that the transference of compassion is a natural occurrence at birth, a gift given only by the mother directly to the new-born human. A gift predetermined by biology. A gift the father, the doctor or midwife, the millions of other souls out there cannot possibly give. Only Mom. So when I gave birth to my baby, as young, as stupid as I was, my heart was overflowing with love and compassion and that darling baby boy (even with a hole in his heart!) accepted every ounce of that gift. Easily the most important thing to teach him. And all I had to do was birth him.
Now that the foundation is set, and his life in in progress, and he can rinse his dishes and unlock the front door and ride a bike and tie his shoes, my focus is teach him humanity, which can be counterintuitive to compassion. Say no. Set boundaries. Let your heart be broke, but not too broke. Listen to records that make you want to scratch the feeling from your feelings. Defy me. Prove me wrong. Stand your ground. Be tender. Be honest - always, horribly honest. Make mistakes, oh that's a big one. Even bigger? Recover from mistakes.
I teach and I teach and I have no idea I'm doing it. What a funny thing it is to discuss semantics and existentialism and death and love and space and time and everything - EVERYTHING - with a child. Fresh eyes and unblemished heart and virgin ideals. Who am I kidding? Cliche and obvious, he is my teacher. He is my sensei. And we just kind of stumble and learn from this life together.
There you have it! That was my piece. While I still have one foot remaining on my soapbox, I'd like to remind you: don't talk to kids, converse with them. Respect their ideas, their feelings, their incredibly fast growing brains. They are smarter than you. They learn how to yell from you. They will resent you for lying to them (yes, even you. Every lie you tell is just another reason to destroy their relationship with you when they get old enough to learn the truth). Now that you know, you're accountable. Sorry.
Special thanks to Heidi and Catie, I love you both. You make me a better writer and a better person.
Sincerely,
h.
