I just finished The Glass Castle by Jeannette Wall. The book is a true account of her memories as she grew up. One of four siblings, she was raised by Rex Wall, her alcoholic father who was also a scientific genius, and a mother who was a displaced hippie that didn't believe in rules or boundaries---for herself or her children. Jeannette's memories begin in a rundown trailer in the desert. Her family's situation gradually worsens as her father becomes more of an alcoholic and her mother retreats deeper into an unrealistic life of painting and reading. The entire family "skedaddles" from place to place in midnight escapes from bill collectors and the law, ultimately winding up in a place and in a situation that the reader assumes can't get any worse. But as the kids grow up and realize that their life isn't the norm, they plot to escape it.
Jeannette's writing on the surface simply reveals the story of a sad, poor family that mirrors the life of many families in the early '60's. The story contains situations of blatant, disturbing sadness brought on by self-centered parents with defeating vices. Never-the-less, the brilliance of her novel is not so much in the story as in the telling of it. Setting aside the obviously hideous childhood these children endured, whether or not she realized it, Jeannette gives every reader a new, perhaps helpful slant on life.
In The Glass Castle, these abominable parents are experts at something that we should all practice, especially if we have kids. I'd loosely refer to it as "The-Glass-Half-Full" theory.
Much of the time the Walls lived in tiny, run-down, out-of-the-way places in the desert that could barely be considered towns. They occupied abandoned buildings and sheds, places where the rent was either very nominal or, preferably, non-existent. They were poor to the extreme so the kids usually had no shoes. Can you imagine children running wild in our southwestern deserts without shoes? Between cactus, scorpions, and broken glass, the average parent would be out of their mind to allow such a thing.
But the Walls children did just that because of the philosophy of their parents. "Shoes are for the weak. Go bare-footed and you build up calluses so thick it's like wearing shoes."
Now, the average person would be able to dicern that this philosophy came from simply not having enough money to buy shoes. True, but the kids swallowed it and that was the key.
When birthdays came around, there was never enough money for gifts. The reader knows where the birthday money went. It bought booze for Dad and paint and canvas for Mom. But Dad takes the kids outside, and they all lay on blankets under the Arizona night sky. Millions of stars twinkle above. Dad points to a particularly bright, glittering one and "gives" the star to his favorite daughter. "Pity those other children," he tells her. "All they get are cheap plastic toys that are going to fall apart in a little while. You have a star!"
Again, the reader sneers, grudgingly congratulationg Dad for his imagination, but pitying the child in the end. But was the child really to be pitied? Daddy's little girl was thrilled, and carried that star around in her heart as his gift to her.
As a result of their financial situation, they had no TV, board games, or radios. Their only forms of entertainment were free, and included copious reading. Jeannette was reading like a 5 year old when she was 3. Even with sporatic education, the kids turned into academic prodigies.
All because this disfunctional, destructive family was less than dirt poor.
I feel it's nesseary to point out, again, that the story contains situations that are almost unbearably sad for these four children, things they should not have had to endure under any circumstances, but my core point is: these parents twisted life into a "glass-half-full" viewpoint.
Each time these kids seemed to be deprived of something we would consider a basic life necessity, the parents would unflinchingly respond to the lack of it with a piece of wisdom that successfully led the children to "realize" that they not only didn't need it, they were better off without it. Maybe it's time we practiced a little of that with our own kids.
Now before someone thinks I'm going to try to convince my kids they don't need shoes, or games, or some food, let me say I wouldn't be able to do that if I tried. But all too often our kids successfully convince us they "need" something "vital" to their well-being. That they couldn't possibly go another day without it, or will "just die" if they don't have it.
Last week, on a Sunday evening, our youngest son rambles to the kitchen table, drops onto a chair, and casually points out to his dad and I that he needs a new set of shoes, some socks, and several new T-shirts. The existing ones have holes and are faded. He lists some good brands to buy and the colors he wants. (A new girl just appeared on the horizon, but his father and I wisely didn't bring that factor into the conversation.)
Now, to exercise the "glass-half-full" theory. I respond: "If the piles and piles of laundry in your room were to be washed, you'd find (as you have in the past) t-shirts without holes. T-shirts that are almost as vivid as when first purchased because the ones on the bottom of that pile of dirty clothes are, in fact, probably very new. You'd find socks galore. Maybe even another set of shoes you've forgotten about."
But if all that failed, I could recall how Rex Wall of The Glass Castle would have handled it. I could have said, "You know, you're going to be very thankful for those holes in your t-shirt come summer. Pity your friends with their perfect t-shirts. You're going to have built-in air conditioning whenever you wear them. I bet those t-shirts become your favorite ones!"
Last week, we ran a little low on "breakfast food." We were out of bread, butter, cereal and milk. There were no eggs, or sausage or bacon in the fridge, and little fruit. I had major shopping to do. Again, the youngest wakes up, shuffles to the kitchen, and begins to swing on the kitchen door. Within moments he's whining that there's nothing to eat. Again, perfect time for "glass-half-full" theory.
I point out, "Cold pizza is great for breakfast!" When that receives an "are-you-crazy?" look, I get more practical. "A can of Spaghettios is filling and warm!" Again, the baleful eye-rolling and heavy sigh. I should feel like the neglectful parent, yes?
Something inside me hears the voice of Rex Wall, and I respond.
"You know, you're better off going without a breakfast. You've been trying to drop a few pounds for track, and you'd be more alert---you know---less drowsy without all that fat and protein sloshing around in your stomach. "
We have become a nation of indulgence. And our kids have become the hapless victims. They actually believe they can't live without $50 pants, $100 shoes and designer shirts. They must have the latest video game before it's sold out and *gasp* they don't get one until the next shipment comes in.
They won't eat onion, bell pepper, vegetables, or store-brand cereal. They need a ride to school because it's cold outside. They have to go with friends to the movies. Friends, popcorn, soda, and Netflix in their front room is just not going to cut it.
I could go on and on. The point is, what on earth would happen if, say, the economy took a downturn...one or the other or both their parents lost their job....maybe Dad received a cut in pay...Mom got laid off? Well, all across America it's happening. We need to begin using the "glass-half-full" theory with our kids.
No, we can't buy the $50 pants off the rack. But you have pants. No, I didn't get your shoes at Foot Locker. I got them at Payless. I didn't pay $100 either, but you have shoes. No, we can't buy the video game this month. But you have books. You get them FREE at the library. And there's the great outdoors. Run, jump, bicycle. It's all free.
And when we finish with our kids, we can start on ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment