You’ve done it this time Santa. Okay so it wasn’t all your fault, but you are partially to blame for the sea of paper, cellophane and screeds and screeds of packaging that we have been swimming in since your clandestine visit late in December. Yes I know I can also blame the childless Uncles, and Aunties who brightened our doorway. “I wasn’t sure what to buy so I just bought them twelve presents each,” and “I hope they don’t already have their own personal computer.” Well funnily enough they don’t.
So there we sat literally in a mountain of Christmas debris. What has happened Santa, that every dam toy now has to be opened with pliers? Not to mention that they all require at least six batteries (not included of course).
Don’t laugh Santa, but in an effort to ease my environmental guilt I got the rellies ripping wrapping paper and soaking it in water to recycle it into homemade paper. Unfortunately, distracted by the incessant rounds of eating, drinking and cleaning up, my good intentions were overlooked and the large gluggy mound of mould was poured into the compost when discovered several weeks later.
Underneath the piles of paper I still had the toys to contend with. And yes Santa, we are as guilty as the rest. We laughed with a few friends about how we used to excitedly open our sock (forget the Santa sack) on Christmas morn and scream in delight at the orange and the banana Santa had left. As a child however, the joy of discovering a brand new rag doll on the end of my bed was somewhat dampened by that fact that Caroline Boon got a whole set of Barbies AND a Bride doll. (Didn’t Santa get my letter?). It was neatly explained that parents had to contribute to Santa’s costs and Caroline’s didn’t have as many brothers and sister’s presents to pay for as mine did.
So what happens to all this stuff? Well, thanks to Chinese manufacturing, many of it has fallen apart after the first try and it joins the mounds at the landfill. Under the dark of night, double-ups can be swept away and saved for the City Mission box next Christmas, while the forgotten few get put away for a boring winter day. But the bulk will litter the floors of the children’s bedrooms until we buy some more plastic to house them.
So Ho, Ho, Ho Santa, next year can you bring me a solution to my consumer woes without ruining the kids Christmas?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Elbows for Dinner
‘I caught Granna out,’ said boy-child. Most school holidays my children spend a week with the grandparents. Each time they return they are further trained in the art of farming, have impeccable manners and are deeply grateful to be home. What’s Granna done?
‘Elbows on the table!’ said a very smug child. ‘I caught her.’ ‘But Mama’ he said. “It is the most stupid of all stupid rules. I mean who decided that putting your elbows on the table is bad? They could just as easily have decided it was good,’ he ranted. ‘Did the rule makers hundreds of years ago just all sit round and make up stupid rules about your elbows and your knife and fork. I mean who cares?
‘Well, it might seem stupid but all these rules are part of your heritage. Different cultures do different things that help define them. In some countries it is manners to burp loudly at the end of a meal – but please don’t try that out at Granna’s place.’
I had to laugh at boy-child’s vision of a committee of rule makers in a board room coming up with illogical rules but within days of this conversation I was reminded how important it is to hold on to the nuances of our culture even if they don’t make sense.
I had the honour of witnessing a long held university tradition – the graduation ceremony. Using boy-child’s logic, the idea of donning a funny cap and gown, which Monty Python could have had a field day with, and marching up on stage to get a piece of paper would seem absurd and pointless. And yet I found myself sitting in the audience snuffling into my sleeve with emotion. The ceremony marks the end of a long hard journey. It is not just for the recipient, it honours their parents and family for their support and most important of all, is a role model for children and other whanau.
In this particular ceremony each recipient spoke. Every time there was a story of how the seed to study was sown, of courage, sacrifice and hardship. Hakas were performed and waiatas offered up in celebration. They were doing these things because that is what they have been taught by their Grannas (and others.)
So while it is probably fair enough that an eight year old thinks its ridiculous to keep his elbows off the table, one day I hope he understands that one simple little ‘rule’ is a tiny piece in a large puzzle that makes up the special culture he is inheriting.
And while we should always encourage our children to question – sometimes the answer to whether elbows should be on or off the table needs to wait. And when it becomes clear I hope it is a chance for him to fondly remember a lesson learned long ago from another generation.
‘Elbows on the table!’ said a very smug child. ‘I caught her.’ ‘But Mama’ he said. “It is the most stupid of all stupid rules. I mean who decided that putting your elbows on the table is bad? They could just as easily have decided it was good,’ he ranted. ‘Did the rule makers hundreds of years ago just all sit round and make up stupid rules about your elbows and your knife and fork. I mean who cares?
‘Well, it might seem stupid but all these rules are part of your heritage. Different cultures do different things that help define them. In some countries it is manners to burp loudly at the end of a meal – but please don’t try that out at Granna’s place.’
I had to laugh at boy-child’s vision of a committee of rule makers in a board room coming up with illogical rules but within days of this conversation I was reminded how important it is to hold on to the nuances of our culture even if they don’t make sense.
I had the honour of witnessing a long held university tradition – the graduation ceremony. Using boy-child’s logic, the idea of donning a funny cap and gown, which Monty Python could have had a field day with, and marching up on stage to get a piece of paper would seem absurd and pointless. And yet I found myself sitting in the audience snuffling into my sleeve with emotion. The ceremony marks the end of a long hard journey. It is not just for the recipient, it honours their parents and family for their support and most important of all, is a role model for children and other whanau.
In this particular ceremony each recipient spoke. Every time there was a story of how the seed to study was sown, of courage, sacrifice and hardship. Hakas were performed and waiatas offered up in celebration. They were doing these things because that is what they have been taught by their Grannas (and others.)
So while it is probably fair enough that an eight year old thinks its ridiculous to keep his elbows off the table, one day I hope he understands that one simple little ‘rule’ is a tiny piece in a large puzzle that makes up the special culture he is inheriting.
And while we should always encourage our children to question – sometimes the answer to whether elbows should be on or off the table needs to wait. And when it becomes clear I hope it is a chance for him to fondly remember a lesson learned long ago from another generation.
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