Life Philosophy #2: The reward one gets from not shitting in one’s pants is not having to walk around with shit in one’s pants.

 I have very few basic rules-of-thumb about life that I feel strongly should be universal.  Actually, until recently, I only had one:

Life Philosophy #1: Don’t shit where you eat.  Animals are programmed to not shit where they eat, but for some reason humans are not.  For example, if you date your boss (shit) who you see at work every day (where you eat), your life will stink really fast.  Not.  Cool.  (Why do people do this anyway?  It slays me.)

 So recently I had an epiphany which resulted in my latest life philosophy - which apparently also has to do with shitting.  And I’m starting to think that if one examines how to handle anything fecal and applies those basic rules to life in general, all will be well.  Case in point: if something really stinks in your life, find a way to flush it down, or it’s no surprise that you’re going to be sitting in the stench.  (Oh, and if you DO find yourself sitting in a stench, don’t sit there and wonder who’s going to spray some Lysol on it - it’s up to YOU to flush it down!)  But I digress…

 This latest philosophy of mine hit me like a brick in the head during a discussion that occurred at work just prior to a meeting.  This discussion basically went like this:

 Coworker #1: So my daughter got straight As for the year and I’m trying to figure out how to reward her.  I have to think of something to buy for her that she would really love.

 Coworker #2: Wow, that’s great.  When my daughter used the potty at daycare two months before her goal, the daycare reduced our fees by like $27 so we bought my daughter a bunch of candy.

 And this point, I exchanged horrified glances with Coworker #3, who happens to share the same philosophies on life that I do.  Not to mention that our glances at each other clearly conveyed our mutual entertainment of Coworker #2 equating potty training with getting straight As.  Hilarious.

 (Side note: It is this completely retarded behavior that has me terrified of procreating.  I don’t want becoming a parent to turn me into an illogical asshole as it does to so many others that I observe.  I don’t want to turn my house over to a miniature version of a human being who is not yet trained in table manners or matters of the excretory system or the application of appropriate vocal volumes to the appropriate situations.  I want to cling to the civilized life I’ve created for myself over the years.  I don’t want to hang stupid crayon drawings of fire trucks that look like they have hair coming out of them up in my home.  That’s not love.  That’s tasteless.  Some things are just non-negotiable with me.)

 Coworker #1: I used to give my daughters stars on this chart we hung in the bathroom for when they used the potty.  Then I had this big “prize box” filled with little wrapped gifts, and after a certain number of stars, they got to pick a prize from the box.  They were just little toys, but my kids loved this.

 Me: Wow, I remember when I did something great, my parents made it a point of illustrating the intrinsic reward of why what I did was great, but I guess times have changed.  Or maybe they just didn’t have money for gifts, who knows.  So should we jump into this agenda or what?

 Note that Coworker #3 starts laughing and puts her head down briefly on the table to regain control of herself.  Then the meeting starts.

  Now one of the things that’s been so wildly irritating to me at work lately is what seems to be this inexplicable attitude of entitlement that I would argue 100% of staff members born after 1980 seem to ooze.  It just oozes from them.  OOzes.  Like puss from a bad sore.  And I find it SO irritating.  It actually makes me wild with rage, to be honest.  No amount of coaching or just plain straight talk with them about what behaviors will be rewarded with pay increases and promotions seems to matter, they just seem to think they are entitled to both pay increases AND promotions. (This is even if they stroll in at 9 and leave by 4.  Seriously?  Who does that?)

 I want to shake them and scream at them and tell them about how hard I had to work to get where I am today - not that I’m actually very far “up the ladder” or anything.  They don’t seem to know what it means to literally be forced to choose between whether to get the car repair done or to eat.  That actually happened to me back in my mid-20s.  And it sucked.  I chose to eat, btw, and used public transportation and my own two feet until I could scrape money together for the car repair thankyouverymuch.  And my reward?  Learning how to PLAN for the unexpected car repair.  Believe me, lesson learned.  And I appreciate that I learned the lesson when I did.  There was nobody to bail me out.  This is how one becomes self reliant, which seems to be more and more rare these days.  And I KNOW these are the kind of experiences that only “old people” should pine about.  Uphill both ways, right?  I get it, I GET it now.  And yes,  I appreciate every sub zero uphill trek to and from school that every blue-haired member of society tells, and am quite thankful that our school system had bussing.  I FINALLY GET IT.  (And I SO feel your pain.)

 So when the conversation about rewarding children for potty training occurred at work, it totally dawned on me: when I grew up, my reward for not shitting in my pants was - guess what! - NOT having SHIT in my PANTS!  And I actually have vague memories of my mom cooing “see how NICE it is to feel all CLEAN!?”  The same was true for when I (finally) learned to pick up my toys and make my bed: “See how NICE it is to have SUCH a CLEAN ROOM?  It’s so PRETTY like this, isn’t it!”  And somehow it started to gel for me…why yes, yes it’s quite nice to have a dry bum.  I feel happy when my bum is dry.  I no longer have to wear those horrible plastic pants to bed, either.  I should try this more often.  And oh yes, it’s quite nice in here with the pretty bedspread showing and the toys all lined up.   It’s even pleasant.  And it looks bigger, too.  My toys actually look happy!  Perhaps I should try this whole tidiness thing my mom keeps telling me about.  And so my intrinsic OCD ways were born and I’ve never looked back.  The reward??  My house is CLEAN.  I can FIND things.  I feel peace and calm because I know what the FUCK is going on because things are in order.  THAT is my reward.  My reward for not shitting myself is that I don’t have to walk around all day with SHIT in my pants.  Because that, my friend, would stink.  I’m not given any other prize.  And I don’t get a raise or a promotion.  I have learned basic adult human functionality.  Go me.

I will never figure out why parenting took a nosedive, putting kids in the the drivers seats of many households.  I know that certainly wasn’t the case in the house in which I was raised, where my brother and I were convinced that the only reason our parents ever HAD kids was because it was cheaper than hiring a gardener and a housekeeper.  As it turns out, that is actually not true.  So they must have wanted us for other reasons.  They certainly loved us, and while I certainly can’t say they were perfect parents (who is?), they definitely did the best they could with what they had.  For the most part, they did pretty damned good.  And quite honestly, I’m greatful for the tough tests they put in front of us.  We got plenty of praise when praise was warranted.  There was no “game” to it.  No bribes.  No “stuff.” I’m convinced that it’s all made me a better person today.  I’m not focused on needing “stuff” to reward myself for a job well done.  My reward for paying the bills is that my credit rating rocks.  My reward for working hard around the house is that I live in a nice house.  And finally, my reward for working hard at work is that I get some autonomy, can make some pretty cool (and sometimes scary) decisions, and that I consitently get raises and promotions WHEN they are deserved.

 And let me just reiterate that I am not a parent.  I don’t know how hard it is.  I haven’t the foggiest.  In fact, I’m rather sure that there are parts of parenting that are 100% hell (which is why venturing into that territory gives me some serious pause - aside my fear of it turning me into a useless asshole).  But I am also rather sure that buying everything under the sun for one’s children when they even attempt to learn some basic human funcationality can make the life of a parent a living hell 100% of the time - or close to it.  I’d prefer that my kids understand the intrinsic reward in doing the things that good life maintenance dictates, and spend their time making real human connections with people so their lives have some meaning. 

So anyway, this revelation about whatever it was that snapped in the 80s (Too much money?  Too much TV?  Electing an actor president?  What was it??) that resulted in a generation of parents that reward their kids for not shitting in their pants has provided ME with THREE rewards:

1. Peace of mind in at least beginning to understand these twentysomething creatures that continue to trickle into the workforce, making my work life just a bit more of a living hell each day.  This newfound piece of mind, I’m convinced, will help me find my “happy place” before actually scratching out the eyes of any one of these nimrods.  (And the added bonus?  NOT getting in trouble for scratching out the eyes of a nimrod!)
2. A reminder to my future self to not become a retarded jackass of a parent (if and when I actually become a parent) that gives my kids presents for not shitting in their pants.  Or for picking up their toys.   Or for making their beds.  Or for getting straight As.  Or inevitably, paying their bills.  These are, in actuality, bribes.  And as mentioned, I have no idea of what it’s like to be a parent, so maybe I’m way off base here.  But from where I stand in my life right now, it seems these bribes multiply quickly, and soon the situation (and the kid) is out of control.  I want to officially remind my future self to stick to her guns.  Praise is good, presents…maybe not so much.  At least not always.
3. A way to articulate this life philosophy which apparently I’ve lived by for as long as I can remember, but never quite crystalized before now.  It just feels liberating to finally have the words to explain this phenomenon.

And maybe I’m asshole now, and parenting will make me less of an asshole.  I am absolutely willing to accept that.  But honestly?  I really think I might be onto something here. 

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 24th, 2008 at 6:57 am and is filed under The Rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, bookmark the Permalink in your Browser, leave a response, or trackback from your own site.