Around the holidays I always worry that my kids are so indulged, especially by their grandparents, that they will become selfish, that they won't develop empathy or learn the joy of giving. I spend the whole year trying to send the messages that it's important to give to others, to put others' needs ahead of our own, and that we have more than we need. Then, come December, despite my best efforts, the emphasis is on getting an over abundance of material possessions.
I've spent this entire month awkwardly inserting lessons about how much we have and how others aren't as fortunate into my discussions with the kids. And, despite my (probably misguided) best intentions, my kids haven't seemed to grasp this. They didn't seem to feel any real empathy for the kids I described without enough toys or food.
The most important lesson this month, however, wasn't in one of my awkward diatribes. It wasn't actually anything I said at all. And, the lesson wasn't one my kids learned; it was one I learned.
We were at a big pet store to feed some tortoises. We bought a bag of greens to feed them, but it turned out we had to wait a while, so we left the bag of greens with the cashier and went to feed the koi first. I inserted a quarter into the vending machine every couple minutes and divided the fish pellets between Kate and Anna. The girls had a great time throwing the pellets in and watching the giant fish squirm over the tops of each other, fighting for the pellets. Kate made sure to try to feed in different areas, so all the fish got their share. After a while, I said, "Okay, let's finish up feeding the fishies, and then we'll go feed the tortoises. I'd bet they're getting hungry." As we were leaving the koi, Anna ran up to me and, uncurling her little hand, showed me it was full of fish pellets. She explained, "I sabed [saved] these for the tortoises, because I know they are so humbry [hungry]!"
I explained the tortoises ate different food and that we could give the rest of that food to the fishies. She went over to a different spot and gave the rest of the food to what she believed were different fishies.
We found the tortoises in the back room fenced in by low wooden walls. There were twelve huge tortoises. We held out long leaves and they lumbered over each other, tearing big hunks of green flesh off the leaves. Kate was careful to only let each tortoise get a couple bites before offering her leaf to another. When our leaves were gone, Kate began to cry. I said, "I know it's disappointing, but we can come back another day." She shook her head to say that I didn't understand, but she was so upset, she couldn't even speak. Finally, gesturing to one of the seemingly identical tortoises, she managed to choke out, "But, that one's hungry." I understood now. She'd kept careful track of which tortoises had gotten bites and which hadn't. She thought it was up to her and Anna to make sure each of the tortoises ate that day.
I bent down and explained that we were just giving the tortoises a snack because it's fun, but that other people fed them that day, that they had all eaten already.
The important lesson of that morning at the pet shop wasn't what the kids learned. It wasn't that tortoises don't eat fish pellets or that other people feed the tortoises their main meals. The important lesson is what I learned. So, maybe my girls don't empathize with the plight of the lower middle class in America, that they may not understand how hard it is for some to get a decent education. That's probably because anything close to these concepts is entirely too abstract for a two-year-old and a just-turned-five-year-old. But, when my little girls saw the animals in front of them and understood they wanted food, they had empathy. They took it upon themselves to do everything they could, whether reserving fish pellets in a tiny fist or equally divying up leaves, to get each of those animals a fair share of food. And, really, that's a lot better than many adults.
