Danya Doesn’t Share
I’ve always hated sharing. Just because someone is coveting a meal you had the foresight to order, and they did not, doesn’t mean you have to give them a bite. Get better at ordering! When I was dating my husband, I was at dinner with his extended family and one of his aunts nonchalantly took a fry from my pile of fried food and ate it. I stared at her. I desperately wanted this family to be my family some day, so I punched my own leg to jolt myself away from saying, “Bitch, that is NOT your food basket!” Instead, I just smiled politely with glazed over eyes and held my breath so I couldn’t speak vitriol.
As a parent we are supposed to impart to our children that sharing is a necessary rule of life. While I agree with this notion to a point, I don’t subscribe to the idea that kids should have to hand over what they are doing just because someone else wants it.
My son would be at the park, having a lovely time, riding one of those ducks attached to a giant spring that rocks back and forth. He would be quietly enjoying the entertainment provided by this cartoon-like creature, when some feral child would approach and say he wanted to ride the duck. SJ (my son) would grip onto the handles so tight his little knuckles would turn white. I would tell the kid that there were plenty of other spring-loaded animals available to ride on so he should politely piss off. The kid would stand there like a deer in the headlights because I had not just ordered my son to abandon this toy for his own pleasure. Why should SJ have to get off the duck just because this crap kid appeared out of nowhere wanting a turn?
At some point the feral child’s mother would wander up and say to her son, “I’m sure this little boy will get off and let you have a turn.” SJ would look at me with big eyes and sore knuckles out of fear that his turn on the spring duck would be cut prematurely. So I would turn to Crap Kid’s mom and say, “He is enjoying his turn and there are plenty of other toys available.” She would look at me all aghast that I had not just ripped my kid off the duck because her butthole kid wanted something and we did not just automatically give it to him. She would be huffy but I wouldn’t care.
I saw an episode of the Nickelodeon cartoon, “Olivia,” that perfectly describes my thoughts on forced sharing. The show focuses on a precocious child/pig who imparts her rules on life. On this particular episode, Olivia is psyched because she has this brand new box of crayons. You know the feeling - when the crayons are all sharp and smell like a factory and the possibilities for art seem endless? Well, Olivia was gearing up for the inaugural use of the crayons when her little brother, Ian, walks up and decides he wants to color, too. Olivia is fearful that Ian will not be careful with her new art supplies and tells him he can’t color with her. Ian acts like a little bitch and tattles to their mom, who insists that Ian be allowed to use her brand new colors. Olivia compromises and agrees to let him use three of the crayons. Ian, further proving his status as a little bitch, takes all three shades of red, Olivia’s favorite color. What a tool! Frustrated, Olivia walks away to work on her puzzle. Guess who walks up and decides that he suddenly must solve the pieces of the puzzle? Ass Hat Ian! And when Olivia objects, he tattles again and Olivia gets scolded. Olivia reluctantly abandons her puzzle and lets Ian finish it while she reads one of her books. Then who should appear at her side demanding to read the same book despite having plenty of his own? You guessed it - Ian! This time when Ian tattles, Olivia is sent to her room with the instruction to think about her need to be gracious with sharing. Oliva makes a super-woke assertion to her mom that she probably wouldn’t appreciate it if other adults approached her constantly demanding to use her things. As Olivia is contemplating the bogus concept of sharing while in her room, she imagines her mother getting into her own car, only to have a neighbor approach and say, “Olivia’s mom, I need to share your car.” And then the neighbor pig lady just takes the keys and drives off. Who among us would appreciate having your car hijacked because your neighbor wants to “share” it? Not this girl.
I’ve grown a lot over the years. Occasionally when I am at a restaurant I will share guacamole as an appetizer with my husband. I have figured out that the key is putting larger amounts of the guacamole on your chips so it appears that you are eating equal amounts but are, in fact, getting the better end of the deal. Our son, however, requires his own dish of guacamole. He’s obviously not as self actualized as I am.
