When I was about 11, my Mom and Stepdad asked me if I wanted to spend the summer at my Gramma's farm. I remember it clearly - Mom and Rick were sitting outside the front door in lawn chairs (something that I thought was odd) and they called me out front with them. They told me that my brother was going to spend a few weeks at band camp and another camp, and my older sister was going off somewhere else for a few weeks (I don't remember that part), so would I like to go spend time with Gma and Gpa? I realize now that they were possibly finding something to do with me to make the summer easier for them, but that was perfectly fine with me, and the decision has affected my entire life.
Gma and Gpa owned about 100 acres up in the Ozarks. It was (and is still) a beautiful, peaceful place in the woods on a river, where everyone within walking distance (miles) was either related to us or had grown up with Gma and Gpa. This was where I spent several summers starting from that time, and this is where I continued to go (until recently) when I needed some away time.
It's only now that I think I realize what those summers gave me. I mean, I knew that it affected me deeply, and I have been able to put words to it in some respects over the years, but I read a passage of a book a few days ago that really hit home. To understand the passage, I have to explain that when I was up at the farm, I was more or less the only kid around. I spent the summers essentially alone in the woods with my Grampa and Gramma while they tended their garden, looked after their cows, and built furniture and toll painted for craft shows. I had free reign over the woods and the cliffs and the caves. I learned to find my way there and back again, and I learned to try things and test myself. I watched Gpa in the wood shop and internalized much more than I could have imagined. I watched Gma toll paint and again learned more than I knew at the time. There was little or no TV reception, so I learned to love reading books. Twain, Azimov, Doyle, and a variety of others became my nighttime TV. In the city where I lived during the school year, walking miles at a time was frowned upon. At the farm? It was all I had to do some days.
So here's the bit that I just read that resonated within me:
"Time was not important. And he learned to still his humming as he moved about his chores. There was no need to sing when his spirits rose, no need to make himself known to the forest world. The vanity of carving his name in air gave way to the pleasure of unwatched watching. Unknown to him, the boy became quieter within as well. Concentration does not permit of fancies and debates, poetries and orations in one's inner auditorium . . . He stilled his quarrelsome mind so that he could hear the world outside, and he deeply liked the things he heard.
Not my song, but yours."
This is a description of what those summers gave to me. At the very core, I learned to stop and listen. I learned to pay attention. I learned that while getting my message out was sometimes important, listening to the messages around me was ALWAYS important.
This is what I want my son to experience. This is the opportunity I want to give him. I think this would go a long way toward settling his mind and building some sense of self-assurance, like it did me at his age. But how? Through some sad circumstances, the farm is no longer a part of my family. We will be moving every few years, and I can't take off summer months like I could when I was in school. So I need to figure out a way to help him find these lessons.
...and the second thing that this passage brings to my attention is why I'm leery of Twitter, and Facebook, and other social media. I note the irony of putting this in a blog post, but I also view blog posts as a little different. Those who have followed my posts over the years will note that many of my posts are me working out issues to myself, but in a venue where my friends can chime in if they have some insight. I've always found that writing journal entries helps me think through issues - this is a more public version of that. And I therefore recognize that others use social media for similar purposes. BUT the thing that turns me off with most users of it is that they are not listening. They are vying for attention. Or they are desperately seeking approval. Or they are putting their lives out there so that they can live their own lives by proxy.
Instead of "
Not my song, but yours", it's more "
My song - please comment.
Please?"
I view it as some bastardized version of
Descartes - I have a voice, see? Therefore I am. It seems to me that, privacy issues aside, the vanity of carving one's name in air should give way more often to the pleasure of hearing and paying attention. I fear that lesson will soon be lost by people who count their worth by how many friends or followers they have. By who can be the first to "retweet" some more famous person's words.
A friend once derided constant cell phone use by people who were too afraid to listen to their own voices. He believed too many people were afraid of spending time in a room with only their own thoughts, or listening to what's happening around them - REALLY listening. I would say that most social media use is an extension - and even amplification - of that. And it makes me want to go spend time at the farm.
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amused
contemplative
