Hands OFF!
No matter how charitable a person might be, I think it is natural that everybody – absolutely everybody – has something that they are selfish about. (Be honest… I know you must have something!) For some people, it’s money. For others, it’s stuff. For a few, it’s designer labels. But not me. For me, as long as the bills are paid, I’m happy. When it comes to stuff, for the most part I could take it or leave it. And I couldn’t care less about having the latest name or fad. So what AM I selfish about? My plate.
When I set down at the dinner table, and I have my food in front of me, I become very territorial about what is on my plate. And if you are the kind of person who goes to a restaurant and wants to try a little nibble of what everyone else has on their plate as if everyone else’s order is your own personal buffet, and you make the mistake of reaching over towards mine, you might very well find yourself drawing back a bloody stump!
Why do I have such an odd quirk of selfishness? Well, I’ll tell ya.
Let’s step into the way-back machine, shall we? Mid-afternoon on the 25th of March, 1968, the telephones began to blare, “it's a BOY!” Finally… after nine years of quiet… after four girls… the male heir… the junior to carry on his father’s name… the default next generation to run the family restaurant was born. But… I don’t know how thrilled my sisters were. Oh don’t get me wrong – they loved having a living play-doll. But it didn’t take long before I was labeled as “that bratty brother.” Why? Because compared to my sisters, I had a rich childhood. And when you think about it, that makes sense. My sisters came about at an earlier time for my parents. Times were different. They were working hard and struggling to get established. But by the time I came about, the family was quite stable. They were running a restaurant as well as a hotel business. We lived in a large house. And I was surrounded by toys. But here’s the thing. I didn’t really like most of them. You see, to complicate things, I was a little gayby. I didn’t care for all the “boy toys” that I was given. Frankly, I wanted a Barbie. And my parents weren’t exactly going to give in to that sort of a thing. So I found myself surrounded by boy toys such as blocks and trucks and other boy things. And I had no interest in them – zero in fact. And quickly, I was viewed as an unappreciative spoiled brat who just wanted more and more and more to be happy, which I found to be very unfair. After all, why should I be effusively happy and content with things that I have no interest in? Sure, someone can have a wardrobe full of clothes – but if none of them fit, what good are they? That’s kind of how I felt. It wasn’t the amount of stuff. Heck, I would have been perfectly happy with only one or two things if they were just the things I WANTED rather than what was pushed in my direction.
The brother and sisters tension also flared when it came to the kitchen. From time to time, one of the sisters would take a stab at dominance when mom’s back was turned by reaching over onto my plate, grabbing something, taking a bite out of it, and then putting it back on my plate. To them, it was a harmless way to get back at the spoiled-little-brat. But I’ll tell you, it really pissed me off! I honestly did not feel like I had control over a thing in my life. I had all these adults telling me what to do, where to be, how to act, when to say thank you, what to say thank you for, etc. I had no say in any aspect of my life, and it really ate away at me. But heck, now I didn’t even have control over what was on my plate? REALLY?!!!!
As I grew up, the control (or lack thereof) issues became reinforced. Every now and then, I would get a toy that I actually liked in one way or another. And then one day, with no warning, it would disappear. It turns out that if it was deemed too noisy, or promoted violence, my mom would dispose of it and then when I asked if she had seen it, she would simply LIE TO MY FACE and say she hadn’t. (No mom, I’m not over it. And I think I should call you at 3:00am your time to remind you). Or at other times, my dad would see a bunch of my things that he didn’t think I had interest in (most of which I didn’t), pack them all up, and they would disappear to be given to other kids. OK, fine. That would make sense if you were talking about just things I didn’t care about and you asked my opinion. But every now and again, he would include something that I DID enjoy (such as a favorite stuffed animal that was a bit girly). So from an early age, I was experiencing some real control issues when it came to things that were actually mine vs. the façade of being mine.
Would I ever have control over anything in my life?
Now fast forward to life in Florida. As an early teen, it was for the most part just me and my mom. Dad was running the business up north. The sisters were all older and still living up north, with the exception of 3 of 5 who moved down south to her own place. So being in a different environment, perhaps I might have some control. Well… it would take a screaming match.
My mom, who didn’t like to cook, relied heavily on frozen dinners. If Steuffers made it, she bought it. And for the most part, that was fine with me, as I enjoyed their stuff. But there was one particular selection of their dinners that was hit and miss with me. They made these chicken dinners – one I liked very much, and one I absolutely detested. And two came to a pack. Mom would often purchase two different types, both of which she liked, and she would insist that we each have one. I couldn’t stand that! She got the best of both worlds, and I ended up either having to eat something I didn’t like OR just having half a dinner while she would have the other one the next day for lunch. Finally, one day, I stood up. I told her I wanted both of the one type. She knew I hated the other one, and I was tired of always sharing. Heck, she liked them both, so why was there even an issue? We got into a screaming match, but I wouldn’t back down. Finally, she called me a selfish ass and left the room. I wasn’t happy that I upset my mom, but for cryin’ out loud! Why did it have to be such a big deal? Why couldn’t I have control over my own dinner plate?! It was not a pleasant argument. But it did accomplish something – that was the last time I was forced to split a meal and have to allow someone else access to what I plan to eat.
So now fast-forward to my adulthood. I consider myself to be a hospitable person. Need a helping hand? I will help you. Are you a friend in need? I have opened up my wallet to help people. Need a place to crash? I have opened up my home to people. Hungry? I will gladly feed you. In fact I LOVE to feed people. Often, I have spent more than I should have when I find The Perfect Thing for a friend of mine. Heck, sometimes I have given an expensive item of my own to someone else because I know they will appreciate it more than I will. I’m NOT a selfish person. But at the same time, show me respect. If I offer something off my own plate, that’s one thing. But if I don’t, then kindly and respectfully BACK OFF!
When I set down at the dinner table, and I have my food in front of me, I become very territorial about what is on my plate. And if you are the kind of person who goes to a restaurant and wants to try a little nibble of what everyone else has on their plate as if everyone else’s order is your own personal buffet, and you make the mistake of reaching over towards mine, you might very well find yourself drawing back a bloody stump!
Why do I have such an odd quirk of selfishness? Well, I’ll tell ya.
Let’s step into the way-back machine, shall we? Mid-afternoon on the 25th of March, 1968, the telephones began to blare, “it's a BOY!” Finally… after nine years of quiet… after four girls… the male heir… the junior to carry on his father’s name… the default next generation to run the family restaurant was born. But… I don’t know how thrilled my sisters were. Oh don’t get me wrong – they loved having a living play-doll. But it didn’t take long before I was labeled as “that bratty brother.” Why? Because compared to my sisters, I had a rich childhood. And when you think about it, that makes sense. My sisters came about at an earlier time for my parents. Times were different. They were working hard and struggling to get established. But by the time I came about, the family was quite stable. They were running a restaurant as well as a hotel business. We lived in a large house. And I was surrounded by toys. But here’s the thing. I didn’t really like most of them. You see, to complicate things, I was a little gayby. I didn’t care for all the “boy toys” that I was given. Frankly, I wanted a Barbie. And my parents weren’t exactly going to give in to that sort of a thing. So I found myself surrounded by boy toys such as blocks and trucks and other boy things. And I had no interest in them – zero in fact. And quickly, I was viewed as an unappreciative spoiled brat who just wanted more and more and more to be happy, which I found to be very unfair. After all, why should I be effusively happy and content with things that I have no interest in? Sure, someone can have a wardrobe full of clothes – but if none of them fit, what good are they? That’s kind of how I felt. It wasn’t the amount of stuff. Heck, I would have been perfectly happy with only one or two things if they were just the things I WANTED rather than what was pushed in my direction.
The brother and sisters tension also flared when it came to the kitchen. From time to time, one of the sisters would take a stab at dominance when mom’s back was turned by reaching over onto my plate, grabbing something, taking a bite out of it, and then putting it back on my plate. To them, it was a harmless way to get back at the spoiled-little-brat. But I’ll tell you, it really pissed me off! I honestly did not feel like I had control over a thing in my life. I had all these adults telling me what to do, where to be, how to act, when to say thank you, what to say thank you for, etc. I had no say in any aspect of my life, and it really ate away at me. But heck, now I didn’t even have control over what was on my plate? REALLY?!!!!
As I grew up, the control (or lack thereof) issues became reinforced. Every now and then, I would get a toy that I actually liked in one way or another. And then one day, with no warning, it would disappear. It turns out that if it was deemed too noisy, or promoted violence, my mom would dispose of it and then when I asked if she had seen it, she would simply LIE TO MY FACE and say she hadn’t. (No mom, I’m not over it. And I think I should call you at 3:00am your time to remind you). Or at other times, my dad would see a bunch of my things that he didn’t think I had interest in (most of which I didn’t), pack them all up, and they would disappear to be given to other kids. OK, fine. That would make sense if you were talking about just things I didn’t care about and you asked my opinion. But every now and again, he would include something that I DID enjoy (such as a favorite stuffed animal that was a bit girly). So from an early age, I was experiencing some real control issues when it came to things that were actually mine vs. the façade of being mine.
Would I ever have control over anything in my life?
Now fast forward to life in Florida. As an early teen, it was for the most part just me and my mom. Dad was running the business up north. The sisters were all older and still living up north, with the exception of 3 of 5 who moved down south to her own place. So being in a different environment, perhaps I might have some control. Well… it would take a screaming match.
My mom, who didn’t like to cook, relied heavily on frozen dinners. If Steuffers made it, she bought it. And for the most part, that was fine with me, as I enjoyed their stuff. But there was one particular selection of their dinners that was hit and miss with me. They made these chicken dinners – one I liked very much, and one I absolutely detested. And two came to a pack. Mom would often purchase two different types, both of which she liked, and she would insist that we each have one. I couldn’t stand that! She got the best of both worlds, and I ended up either having to eat something I didn’t like OR just having half a dinner while she would have the other one the next day for lunch. Finally, one day, I stood up. I told her I wanted both of the one type. She knew I hated the other one, and I was tired of always sharing. Heck, she liked them both, so why was there even an issue? We got into a screaming match, but I wouldn’t back down. Finally, she called me a selfish ass and left the room. I wasn’t happy that I upset my mom, but for cryin’ out loud! Why did it have to be such a big deal? Why couldn’t I have control over my own dinner plate?! It was not a pleasant argument. But it did accomplish something – that was the last time I was forced to split a meal and have to allow someone else access to what I plan to eat.
So now fast-forward to my adulthood. I consider myself to be a hospitable person. Need a helping hand? I will help you. Are you a friend in need? I have opened up my wallet to help people. Need a place to crash? I have opened up my home to people. Hungry? I will gladly feed you. In fact I LOVE to feed people. Often, I have spent more than I should have when I find The Perfect Thing for a friend of mine. Heck, sometimes I have given an expensive item of my own to someone else because I know they will appreciate it more than I will. I’m NOT a selfish person. But at the same time, show me respect. If I offer something off my own plate, that’s one thing. But if I don’t, then kindly and respectfully BACK OFF!