Thursday, May 18, 2006
Dat Mine!
Benjamin Thornton was arrested in Pearland, Texas, after trying to pick up a nine-year old girl. He told her at that it was illegal for her to be holding a toy while waiting for a school bus. Although he was dressed as a police officer, she spotted him as a phony immediately. He apparently was totally ignorant of child psychology. At some point in their life every child goes off to school with a favorite toy, book or some other object that he or she holds dear. This goes way back. Well, as far back as you can go when you are dealing with a nine-year old. Every child is familiar with the Toddler’s Creed even if he or she has never read it.
If I want it, it's mine.
If I give it to you and change my mind later, it's mine.
If I can take it away from you, it's mine.
If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
If it's mine, it will never belong to anybody else, no matter what.
If we are building something together, all the pieces are mine.
If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
But it does not end there. If you have something that I want, it’s mine. If I see it in Wal-Mart, it’s mine. And if you put it back on the shelf, it’s still mine—just wait until we get to the checkout line and it suddenly reappears. Try taking it from me and the entire world will know it’s mine. Boy will they know. And if by some miracle you leave the store without the item, at least twenty or thirty people are thinking why did you not just buy the blankety-blank thing and spare us all that agony. Any nine-year old knows what the Uniques set to music back in the Sixties—“It’s all these things that make you mine!” The first words out of many a baby’s mouth are not “mama” or “dada,” but “Dat mine!” And you better believe it. Any self-respecting parent will go miles and miles out of his or her way to avoid taking junior to Wal-Mart, or if that is not possible they will live on bread and crackers for a few days to avoid another confrontation at the checkout line. Ok! We all agree that any toy or trinket belongs to the brat—uh, that darling child. The same goes for chips and cokes.
But after that is where they draw the line. And any decent food is “dat not mine.” Or maybe they are a little more sophisticated than that. “I don’t like that!” “How do you know? You never tasted it!” “I just know.” “Well how do you know, if you have never tried it?” “Broccoli almost killed President Bush when he was in Japan.” Leave it to Beaver to have the lowdown on every food poisoning incident in the history of the United States—before he is six years old. My teenage daughter once had a boyfriend over for dinner and he was up front about what he did not like. It if was orange or green he did not like it. He apparently had never been served anything purple before in his life. When something purple was offered to him, he announced that now he did not like anything orange, green or purple. I said, “How do you know if you have never tried it?” “I just know,” he replied.
This was the same boyfriend who volunteered to drop our garbage off at a county dumpster on his way home. Only thing was that he forgot. Believing that my daughter would never date anyone who was not as good as his word, I trusted him. Foolish me! About two weeks later I got a call from an irate landowner who demanded to know why I had chosen to dump my garbage all over his land. He made it quite clear that he had a good notion to dump my body parts all over his land to cover up my garbage. After a few minutes of our heated exchange, the light dawned: Jimmy had never made it to the dumpster. And my garbage was indeed all over this other fellow’s land. I explained what I thought had happened and asked if I could call him back in a few minutes. I called Jimmy and asked, “what did you do with my garbage?” Of course, I did not really think of it as my garbage at that time, but his garbage. I gave Jimmy three days to pick up every shred of garbage on that other fellow’s land or else. I think that he must have picked up three or four pick-up loads of garbage. After that he told me that he did not like anything orange, green, purple or anything that went into a garbage bag. I thought if I give you something, it’s yours. There is no warranty. It is yours forever. Even if it is only purple garbage.
Benjamin Thornton was arrested in Pearland, Texas, after trying to pick up a nine-year old girl. He told her at that it was illegal for her to be holding a toy while waiting for a school bus. Although he was dressed as a police officer, she spotted him as a phony immediately. He apparently was totally ignorant of child psychology. At some point in their life every child goes off to school with a favorite toy, book or some other object that he or she holds dear. This goes way back. Well, as far back as you can go when you are dealing with a nine-year old. Every child is familiar with the Toddler’s Creed even if he or she has never read it.
If I want it, it's mine.
If I give it to you and change my mind later, it's mine.
If I can take it away from you, it's mine.
If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
If it's mine, it will never belong to anybody else, no matter what.
If we are building something together, all the pieces are mine.
If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
But it does not end there. If you have something that I want, it’s mine. If I see it in Wal-Mart, it’s mine. And if you put it back on the shelf, it’s still mine—just wait until we get to the checkout line and it suddenly reappears. Try taking it from me and the entire world will know it’s mine. Boy will they know. And if by some miracle you leave the store without the item, at least twenty or thirty people are thinking why did you not just buy the blankety-blank thing and spare us all that agony. Any nine-year old knows what the Uniques set to music back in the Sixties—“It’s all these things that make you mine!” The first words out of many a baby’s mouth are not “mama” or “dada,” but “Dat mine!” And you better believe it. Any self-respecting parent will go miles and miles out of his or her way to avoid taking junior to Wal-Mart, or if that is not possible they will live on bread and crackers for a few days to avoid another confrontation at the checkout line. Ok! We all agree that any toy or trinket belongs to the brat—uh, that darling child. The same goes for chips and cokes.
But after that is where they draw the line. And any decent food is “dat not mine.” Or maybe they are a little more sophisticated than that. “I don’t like that!” “How do you know? You never tasted it!” “I just know.” “Well how do you know, if you have never tried it?” “Broccoli almost killed President Bush when he was in Japan.” Leave it to Beaver to have the lowdown on every food poisoning incident in the history of the United States—before he is six years old. My teenage daughter once had a boyfriend over for dinner and he was up front about what he did not like. It if was orange or green he did not like it. He apparently had never been served anything purple before in his life. When something purple was offered to him, he announced that now he did not like anything orange, green or purple. I said, “How do you know if you have never tried it?” “I just know,” he replied.
This was the same boyfriend who volunteered to drop our garbage off at a county dumpster on his way home. Only thing was that he forgot. Believing that my daughter would never date anyone who was not as good as his word, I trusted him. Foolish me! About two weeks later I got a call from an irate landowner who demanded to know why I had chosen to dump my garbage all over his land. He made it quite clear that he had a good notion to dump my body parts all over his land to cover up my garbage. After a few minutes of our heated exchange, the light dawned: Jimmy had never made it to the dumpster. And my garbage was indeed all over this other fellow’s land. I explained what I thought had happened and asked if I could call him back in a few minutes. I called Jimmy and asked, “what did you do with my garbage?” Of course, I did not really think of it as my garbage at that time, but his garbage. I gave Jimmy three days to pick up every shred of garbage on that other fellow’s land or else. I think that he must have picked up three or four pick-up loads of garbage. After that he told me that he did not like anything orange, green, purple or anything that went into a garbage bag. I thought if I give you something, it’s yours. There is no warranty. It is yours forever. Even if it is only purple garbage.
