Cat Envy
Kids have an amazing way of lending perspective to life. My son Tyler received a state-of-the-art coast guard boat for Christmas. Not a real one of course. He hasn't taken his boating safety course yet, and his mother was concerned about him running down drug smugglers when he should be in Kindergarten. But the toy one has more accessories than a real one and took longer to assemble. It has an inboard motor, movable radar dish, a launchable dingy, life buoys, hand radios, and a cast of seaworthy characters to populate the deck.
Tonight, Tyler asked if we could play Coast Guard before bedtime. I got down on the floor with him and his brother while he doled out the roles everyone would play. It's his job. He's five; he's ruler of his known universe. Play is had on his terms alone, and if there's a big-cheese role to be played you can bet he's the top curd. Consequently, I was thrilled when he offered me the role of Captain who at this time was also manning the helm. Was he relinquishing control a bit? Learning to share at long last?
Meanwhile, his brother got the job of "the guy with the flag" which any seasoned seaman will tell you is just one step up from "the guy with the dish-pan hands". Doug pouted briefly, but was content to be allowed on the boat. Last week he was shark chum so even this was a step up.
Tyler's character stood proudly on the aft deck staring at the wake. Was a big rescue planned and he would be the hero? Were there mother whales in need of a mid-wife? You just never know what his fertile imagination will conjure up, so I was full of anticipation as I asked, "what are you doing back there?"
He non-chalantly turns and says, "Oh, I'm the guy who takes care of the cat."
Huh? The cat? I didn't know the average Coast Guard Cutter packed a cat. But upon further investigation discovered a toy cat in the cabin in need of an uncertain amount of care. Okay this was weird, but not especially so for a house where 3 year-olds yearn to name puppies after Martian moons, but that's another story.
Next, Doug makes a plea for a turn to be the man in charge of the cat. Tyler is unwilling to relinquish such a power position but offers him the Captain's chair as compensation. Doug now refuses to be Captain because if Tyler doesn't want it something must be wrong with it. Competition escalates, and a fight is about to break out over who cares for the cat when suddenly Tyler capitulates; deciding that in fact he would really prefer to be the cat.
Having been deposed as Captain awhile back I was able to sit back and watch the latter stages develop from the shore, and at this point my head was spinning. Thanks goodness it was bedtime.
Sitting here now I'm thinking I have some focus again. And I can't help but wonder if most of the competition we engage in as adults is just an unending quest to have what others think is important. I want what you have, but because you think it's important. I don't need or want to understand why it's important to you, just that it is important to you makes me want it at least a bit. Marketing and advertising are based on this premise, and apparently the premise is hardwired into the species.
If you eat what you hunt, and you are what you eat, then somewhere in all this I cease to be me. If your values become important to me, and in turn your values are just a hodgepodge of the values you've swiped wholesale from others then have I any rational right to expect some sort of fulfillment from all the windmills I tilt at? Should my happiness be found in others' dreams and aspirations? Is it any wonder many of the victories in life are hollow?
Perhaps it's necessary to look deep before questing after a goal and ask if I'll be less for staying put. Perhaps it's okay to stand up and say I don't want to be Captain. What I really want to be is the cat, and for reasons that are mine alone.
Meow...
