Everybody loves to see justice done...on somebody else. - Bruce Cockburn
I remember standing in the fairway of Westview Park, an aging, closely built amusement park which was situated in an old section of Pittsburgh. It's twin wooden roller coasters towered over the neighboring homes and businesses like a mountain shrine, signaling the end of the pilgrimage to the kids who craned out of the windows of approaching school buses. The ground was just beginning to dry in the morning heat after the rain storm which had lasted most of the night before. The air smelt like cigarette butts and worms and wet trash. In places the sinking pavement had caught and held the rainwater in puddles which would remain all day is spite of the sun which was burning off the morning wetness, causing vapors to rise up from the heated asphalt like swamp fog. I was ten years old.
It was the end of the school year and the start of the annual school picnic which was held there each year, a 45 minute bus ride from my small, Catholic grade school. I had a pocketful of tickets and was pleased that I had only the yellow complimentary ones instead of the regular kind. They were the best, since you only needed one for each ride, no matter how many regular tickets it said on the sign. My friends and I counted again, just to be sure, and then set out the ride strategy for the day. Only one thing remained to be done; to decide on how we would pair up. It was important to know that up front so that you always had somebody to ride with or to miss a ride with if you decided to stop and eat. Randy Boleris and I chose each other, and started off toward the first ride of the morning. I was excited to begin. As we started out, we were joined by Randy's older brother who came over with another boy, both from the sixth grade. This was as high as our school went to, so they were the senior class and treated with a mixture of grudging respect and often with a small degree of caution. For reasons which I cannot begin to understand as an adult, they proposed that my friend and I split up and each of us go with one of them. I don't remember either of us being enthusiastic about the suggestion, but we agreed. I don't know why. It was, I suspect, a chance to hang out with an older kid, no matter that we would have preferred to spend the day with each other. I was given first choice; my friend’s brother, or the other. I knew Robbie Boleris from my frequent visits to his house which was in walking distance of mine. He was rough but good-natured and always treated me OK. I didn't know the other one, but I knew of him. Tommy Potter was a cool kid, which meant that he wore rectangular granny glasses with yellow lenses, and nehru collars and pointed toe boots which could grind out a cigarette butt in a corner of the boys room. He was known as a wise guy, a tough kid and a troublemaker. Feeling self conscious in the light blue cotton shorts and new shirt that my mother had insisted I wear, I thought for a moment, then I chose Tommy.
The remainder of that day was spent running from people as Tommy apparently got more enjoyment from riding the edge of trouble than riding the Big Dipper. My protests dissolved into stoic acceptance as they only seemed to urge him on to further trouble, my discomfort apparently half the fun. I remember feeling that what he/we were doing was wrong, that there was no point to it, and bothered by the understanding that nobody who saw us together could know that I was really not like Tommy. It bothered me alot, even angered me, but I didn't leave him. I don't think it was fear that yoked me to him as much as fascination. It was like driving by an accident scene which repels you but from which you are unable to look away. The day culminated in our being taken by the arm and walked to the administration building by a park security person after Tommy was caught spitting off of the alpine skyride, trying unsuccessfully to land one on the heads of the people below. I walked passively, unable to believe what I had gotten myself into. I was full of a child’s overwhelming dread of authority and held fast by the certainty that it was useless to struggle, that there was no escape. We were halfway to the building when I heard someone yell Run!, and watched, almost uncomprehending, as Tommy broke free and began to run. Even more incredible, I was running too, dodging people, hearing Tommy shout directions from ahead of me and not stopping until we were at the far end of the park, out of sight of the security man. I was high on adrenaline and on the sudden realization that authority could be beaten, that I could exert my will over another’s and run and not be caught. There was a sense of freedom in that, freedom and power. In every other respect, that day was not fun. We didn't ride the rides, and play arcade games and do all of the things that I was sure my friends were doing. I simply tagged along with my other half, regretting I had made the choice I did. But I had to admit to feeling oddly drawn to the rush of moving outside of the way good kids were supposed to act. I was an outlaw in light blue shorts. In retrospect, I realize that I was not very different from Tommy.... that I had gotten in touch with something very old that day:
Augustine tells the story of how he and a friend would sneak into a neighbor’s orchard and steal pears from the trees which grew there. The thing was, Augustine didn't like pears. He realized that though he was only a child, he stole for the sheer joy of the act, the exertion of his will and the rush of the trespass. Looking back on that day with Tommy Potter, the Westview Amusement Park was my pear orchard. I realize now that was the first of many instances in which I would be asked to choose between embodiments of the opposing sides of my own nature and would sometimes again choose Tommy , living vicariously the life with no rules which I would not choose to do on my own. Over and again I have been asked to choose and the path of my life has bent to those choices as surely as the tide is pulled by the moon.
I wasn’t thinking of these things as I sat at the Formica booth, a cup of coffee and a bagel resting in front of me. I was waiting in a small diner next to Interstate 84, it was cold and rainy outside, cold and smoky inside. Sophie was running late and I was in a bad mood. My wife and I had just hosted a Christmas party for friends the prior Saturday and during the course of the evening, the children of one couple were playing tag, running from room to room and knocked over a lamp which had great value to us.
Even now, as I write this, I am embarrassed to admit how much that lamp meant to my wife and I, but we had carried it with us for fifteen years, through multiple moves, changes of jobs, starting and ending a business, and the birth of both of our children. It was one of the first things we had bought together of any value, it was the lamp which softly lit the room when Jackie or I rocked our new baby in the middle of the night, or read to them as toddlers. Through all of the moves and transitions, it was one of the few things which remained consistent. Like our family itself, this lamp was still intact after everything else had long since changed. Even fifteen years ago it was hard to find, an unusual floor lamp with a hand blown hurricane style top of subtle pink, and a smaller globe underneath, both handpainted with a delicate design and resting on a base of sculpted brass. We were kids when we found it and brought it home to our apartment to stand alone in an otherwise empty living room, a down payment on this new adventure we had begun together.
During the party, I had watched with an increasing sense of anxiety as the children ran between rooms, dodging adults, hiding under tables and behind floor plants and had been debating whether to ask the kids not to play in the house. And then I was watching , with freeze frame clarity as the lamp rocked once, then twice and then fell over, arching down in slow motion and against the flagstone hearth of our fireplace, fragmenting across the rug. The room became silent except for the Christmas music still playing merrily in the background. I tried to move slowly, my mind struggling to find an appropriate response as I knelt in the middle of my guests, my friends, and picked up the pieces of so many years.
I was upset that my friends had not held their children in check, upset that the lamp was apparently irreparable, but upset as well that a lamp could mean so much to me that I would have experienced that claustrophobic, constricted feeling of high anxiety as I knelt over the pieces with my thoughts racing. After all, it was just a lamp, a material possession. Was this who I was? I thought that I was much more detached from things and now found that I was not. That irritated me. But then, if the lamp hadn’t been broken, I wouldn’t have been confronted with the issue at all. That too irritated me. The kids crawling under tables and between lamps, chasing each other though the rooms with 40 other people to bump into, were an accident waiting to happen. The parents of these kids had been friends of ours for more than ten years. Good friends that we cared about very much, and who seemed equally upset and embarrassed. I was aware that a broken lamp could not damage that relationship which was so important to my wife and I , but I was also aware that I was angry that they had not disciplined their children until after it was too late. Now the lamp was gone, and I was feeling like an idiot for being so upset about it. I stood up with the pieces in my hand and ,as if someone else were speaking, heard myself say "No problem, I think I can fix this". I wasn’t sure what I was really referring to.
Sophie had arrived and had been listening patiently as I went through the whole story, allowing me to vent until I began to feel self-conscious and sank into silence, staring down into the white ceramic coffee mug between my hands.
She asked me a few questions to clarify her understanding of what I had been telling her, nodding her head as I answered. Then she spoke;
"Sam, I’m not sure that you need to feel so guilty over your reaction to what happened. I’m glad to hear that you recognize the value of your relationships with your friends over that of a lamp, but feeling upset about it being broken doesn’t necessarily make you a crass materialist. You know, we all want to consider ourselves free of concern over anything but the most spiritual of matters, but let someone run into our car, or knock over a lamp and we come to the truth very quickly. While this can be overdeveloped to the point where we lose perspective, we can also recognize a place in us that requires visible symbols, permanent markers to remind us and recall for us the times which we cannot hold. Photo’s, family heirlooms, national monuments, they all manifest the same desire.
Many of us have something which carries special significance for us. From what you have told me, that was not just a lamp. It was a symbol, a reminder of all the changes you and Jackie have come through together, a solid reminder that there is a continuity of sorts through all of the changes. When a thing begins to stand for something beyond itself, it takes on an importance which touches a very deep place in us. It becomes an icon and is invested with great significance, even a spirituality that cannot just be brushed aside with the broken pieces. When even the symbol is destroyed it is a reminder that nothing is permanent, and that can touch some pretty deep anxiety in a person. It sounds silly to say but you are grieving for that lamp as well as the passage of time which you cannot hold back. That doesn’t make you a bad person."
Sophie looked around for a waitress, and unable to catch anyone’s attention, got up and headed towards the counter to order another tea and bagel. She excused herself and while she was gone I stared out the window thinking over what she had said. When she returned, she continued;
"You know Sam, when I was coming here today I was thinking over what I might want to speak with you about. This story about the lamp seems to coincide with the subject I had chosen, something which I consider of primary importance to living well and the pursuit of wisdom. It occurs to me that we all like to think of ourselves as innocent, but the truth is that none of us are. Jung said that we each have our shadow side and that we spend much energy in either denying it or running from it, but rarely acknowledging it. That’s what I want to talk about today."
I said that I had heard of Jung, but didn’t see what that had to do with my lamp. Sophie smiled and said :
"I'd like to talk to you about responsibility."
Well, now we were back to the subject I had come to speak about as well. I said that I thought that was a good idea and started again about my friends and their kids, but she stopped me short...
"No, I'm not talking about your friends. I 'm talking about you. About your responsibility in the breaking of your lamp."
"My responsibility?" Are you kidding? I didn't knock it over!.
"Let me ask you something, what were you thinking as you watched the kids running through the house and crawling under the tables?
"I was thinking that I didn’t want them to do that, I was afraid there would be an accident."
"And did you say anything to them?"
"No".
"Why not?"
"I didn’t think it was my place to say something to someone else's kids."
"Well then, did you say something to your friends?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Well, as I said, I didn’t want to presume to tell them how to parent their children."
"So, you were only thinking of your friends, concerned for their feelings and not wanting to embarrass them, is that it?"
Yes, that’s pretty much it.
"Well that’s commendable, but is that all there was to it?. Think harder , were there any other reasons you might be aware of now.?"
I said that I didn’t think so, but Sophie asked me to think about it anyway, that she would give me as much time as I needed, and then proceeded to say nothing more, looking out the window of the diner and sipping her tea with all of the infuriating patience of the Buddha himself.
So I thought. After a while, I became aware that perhaps there was something else. I didn’t like the feeling.
"Well, perhaps I might have had another reason. Possibly I guess that I didn’t want to seem like a grouch, or materialistic, too concerned with my possessions and overly worried they would be damaged. Perhaps that went against the grain of the self image I had . I liked to consider myself beyond that."
"When you say perhaps, and possibly, do you mean that you are not sure? Are you guessing? Because you don't sound like you are guessing."
geez, I was sorry I brought it up.
"OK. Yes I’m sure I was feeling that as well."
"As well? When you say that do you mean that you were mainly feeling concern for your friend’s feelings and only secondarily aware of your need to maintain this self image? Was it just a sort of vague , behind the scenes feeling?"
This was becoming less fun by the minute. I might as well be honest, she would know anyway.
"No, it was right up front. As far as I can tell at least as strong if not stronger than the other reason. Though I was thinking about them as well. I’m pretty sure of that." I had to salvage something of my innocence.
(The truth was, these friends lived very simply and with few possessions and I had to admit that I felt a kind of respect for them, a bit intimidated by their ability to do that , as well as a little uncomfortable sometimes with the things I had, like explaining to Mother Theresa why you needed to have two refrigerators and a wine cellar. Expressing concern to this couple over a lamp just underscored that feeling and it was easier to say nothing.)
" But so what? I shouldn't have had to say something, I would think that would have been obvious "
"Maybe so, but the fact remains that you struggled with telling them, decided to stay quiet for reasons which were decidedly personal and self-involved, and your worst fears were realized. Can you see your responsibility in what happened? You were not innocent. You had an opportunity to act which you did not take. You could have prevented the accident but did not because of you need to protect your self image. Can you also see how important it is, even now, to be removed from the whole thing. To see yourself as innocent of any degree of responsibility? You’re not alone in that you know, that urge is as old as Adam.. .
I thought that was a bit harsh, but had to admit the essential truth of it. Sophie continued.
"That lamp is just a picture of the hundreds of things that occur each week in our lives that we attribute to outside forces, but which we could have affected to some degree or another by simply taking responsibility for what was happening around us. How many times do you look at your gas gauge and think to yourself, I really should stop and get gas, then decide against it only to get stuck when you run out? How many funny noises in your car engine do you ignore until the day that it stalls and won’t start again? And then do you curse and kick the door and wonder out loud why this always has to happen to you?" Feeling like a victim is often a signal that you are neglecting to assume your responsibility for the events in your life. How many warning signs in a relationship are ignored because of the pain or discomfort of working through them? How many months go by in the hope that things will correct themselves until one day your spouse files for divorce or your child runs away? And do we then look to the heavens and ask What did I do to deserve this? Again, we want to be innocent."
"Well, OK but there are things which we don’t control. People have their own minds and accidents do happen don’t they?"
" Sure, sometimes they do, and sometimes people make decisions which affect us but which we could not influence or act upon. But Sam, when a person drinks too much and then gets behind the wheel of a car, what happens next is not an accident. An accident is what happens when nothing could have been done differently to change it, it was a product of forces you could not know about or control. "
"When you could act on something but don't, you have made a choice. When you should not act, but do anyway that is also a choice. In either case, what happens next involves your choices and so you have responsibility for it. You must learn to be responsible for your life and the choices that it requires."
