Righting the Entitlement Mentality by Ripping Out the Root

This is the kitchen of a home in a remote Hmong village. The typical meal in this house is rice. Sometimes the family has vegetables, like this squash, which tastes like a mix of cucumber and pumpkin. The woman who owns this house was gracious and kind. She had work-worn hands from working in the strawberry fields 8+ hours a day and yet did intricate needlework. She invited us to share a portion of her family's meal with dignity and grace.

It’s getting pretty hot around these parts. So my four-year-old son came up with a pretty creative solution. “Let’s put a sign on our house,” he said, “and buy one with a pool.”

On the one hand, I admire his problem-solving skills. We have a house with no pool, let’s sell our current one and buy one that does. On the other hand, I’m horrified that he thinks life can be be upsized so easily.

He is still a preschooler, so I’m cutting him some slack when it comes to the economics of life (I mean, how many times have I wished it was just that easy), but still his comment got me thinking and thinking hard.

On the surface, I could attribute his attitude to a grocery store that hands out samples, a dry cleaners that passes out stickers, and a Sunday School, who, on Easter Sunday had treats. I mean, come on, no wonder this kid thinks life is easy come, easy go. He’s from a generation that doesn’t even have to screw open a jar to get applesauce, all he needs to do is apply a minimal amount of pressure to a squeezable pouch.

But on the other hand, while that may be one facet of the problem, it’s a little too easy to just stop there. The bigger problem maybe not be with just the apple, but also the tree it fell from. 

Don’t get me wrong. My son has seen both my husband and me put in early mornings and late nights. We’ve emphasized to both children that we work to put a roof over their heads and food on the table. Both Luk Chaai and his sister are expected to help around the house be it putting away the silverware and “dunking” dirty laundry in the laundry basket. They know we shop sales and momma hasn’t ever seen a coupon that she didn’t like. But they also know a few other things.

Things like: that food fell on the floor, for heaven’s sakes, throw it away! Don’t eat it. The x.y.z broke? We’ll buy another one. The refrigerator is empty of anything that looks good right now, let’s go shopping and swipe the magic card.

I’m not knocking the good life. Heck, I’ve worked hard for it. Sacrifices have been made. Dues have been, and are being, paid.

But it goes beyond that. We’ve live in an age when it’s just not enough to do “experiences” instead of birthday presents. It’s not enough to limit Christmas to just something you want, something to wear, something to need. It’s not enough that we volunteer at the soup kitchen one day a month, put out our old clothes for the Salvation Army pickup, or that we sponsor a child in a Third World country.

The issue isn’t that we don’t recycle, compost, DIY, or consignment shop enough. That’s not the problem.

You know where my son got the idea that a house with a pool would be nice? From me. I went to a friend’s beautiful new home and came home gushing about it. What’s worse is that’s not the only thing he’s learned.

From me he’s learned that an honest day’s labor will get you the occasional massage, once-in-a-while overpriced latte and regularly scheduled cut and shampoo at an upscale, fancy-smelling salon. I’m glad he’s learned these things. In fact, I hope he strives for them (and more) too.

But I also know that when I squint long and hard at my own life that I’ve taught him the fallacy that if you work hard, then life owes you. It owes you granite and a two-car garage and a lifetime of days covered with smiley face stickers. Putting your nose to the grindstone is supposed to “opt you out” of life’s unhappiness and only bring you the likes of the promises inside fortune cookies.

This obviously isn’t true. It’s not the message I want to live or convey.

So we’re going to work on it. Our starting place? Not buying a house with a pool and making a habit to say outloud the things I’m grateful for each and every day.

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So you got this far waiting for some connection, any connection, to limb differences. Yeah there wasn’t one. Sorry about that.

But in an effort to read more fiction I did stumble across this book,  The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen. By coincidence, it’s about about a BK amputee and, so far, it’s quite a good read.