I shall begin by telling you that I really don't like going to the zoo. It's not that I dislike animals; I have just never gotten any real pleasure out of walking around on hard pavement all day staring at animals in cages. Okay, I admit that once or twice I have gotten a laugh out of seeing the orangutans "get it on," or watching 4 monkeys take a poo simultaneously (for real). But as an overall rule, I kind of loathe going to the zoo.
Somehow I have given birth to a couple of kids who love the zoo.
So I suck it up and I take them to the zoo. It's a nice day, and Boy Scouts and their siblings and parents get in free. (But not until they go thru a series of lessons on how to sell more popcorn for the Boy Scouts--cheap move there.) I'm tired this weekend, I have a lot of grading to do, I have 4 cabbages that need turned into sauerkraut or something before they rot, I have a 25 lb bag of beets that I need to dehydrate into chips or something before they start to sprout, and I actually feel a little sick. I also have $3.79 left in my checking account, I don't get paid until Friday, and I barely have enough gas to get to and from work two days this week (luckily Rosh Hashanah means I get three days off). But you know, parents make sacrifices.
What I am trying to tell you is that I really didn't want to go to the zoo.
So we get there and the first thing the kids do is ask for an Icee. Let me take that back. Talia asks for an Icee. Gavin doesn't ask for anything. He just drops hints that he wants something. (e.g. "I sure am thirsty, Mom.") This is before I realize that I only have $3.79 in my checking account, so I go to the Icee kiosk--I figure I can spare the cash since getting in was free and all--and I make the attempt to purchase two blue Icees. I hand over the debit card. "We only take cash here." I'm screwed. So I tell the kids we will have to wait for another time, and Gavin is really good about it, disappointed as he was, but Talia--oh, Talia. She's telling me it's my fault, that I'm mean, she's crying and throwing herself at my feet. Now keep in mind that I am already (a) not feeling well, (b) feeling like I *should* be home doing school work, and (c) crabby because I hate the zoo. I probably sound like a real bitch the way I am dealing with her, when over comes this Amish girl, maybe 18 or so, and she asks, "Would you let us buy them for you?"
I'm a little floored. At first I decline, then I accept. My kid doesn't deserve to have her behavior rewarded, but here's this nice Amish family (who is smart enough to use cash instead of electronic transfers, by the way) trying to help me, and I figure, well, I'd better not insult them, and really, they are about to make my life a little easier. I accept. Gavin asks me if they are from the 1800's. Funny you should ask that, Gavin....
This experience prompts me to think about a few things.
The zoo was flooded with Amish people today, and I did not hear one of them snap at their children. I did not see one of them looking rushed or agitated. I did not see any of their kids running around like little jerks or acting like spoiled brats.
And as I was trying to explain what I know of their way of life to my son, I started to ponder the way we live.
We are rushed all the time. We are working all the time. Examples? Today (a Saturday, mind you) as I was entering essay grades on our school's online gradebook, I noticed that there is an iPad app that teachers can download so they can enter grades anytime, anywhere. And I think, "Why would I want to be able to work ALL THE TIME, from ANYWHERE?" It reminds me of my dad coming here for vacation and always having his cell phone ring, always being on his laptop, working while he's supposed to be resting.
If I didn't have to work full time (plus, when you consider the hours I put in from home)... if my family lived together and we were all able to help each other (in fact, if my family were all nice to each other at the very least)... if I didn't have to worry about paying ridiculous rates for insurance, or about covering the stupid cell phone bill... if I didn't have a car for which I had to buy gas, if I didn't have to worry about when it is going to finally die on me... if I had the time to pay attention to my kids the way they deserve... if I weren't so stressed out from the ways of modern life that I felt on the verge of sickness and exhaustion all the time... would I be more like those Amish people? Would I stop snapping at my kids, would I stop seeing the glass as half empty, would I stop needing to take Wellbutrin to stay sane, Ambien to fall asleep, and Ativan to keep me from going into a panic?
I can sew. I'll wear the damn plain clothes and spend my days tending vegetables and canning seasonal fruits. Gavin would look cute in suspenders. I'm quick with languages--bring on the Pennsylvania Dutch. I could do that if it meant that I didn't have to live every moment of my life as if impending doom were around the corner, if it meant that I could be with people who believed in living as a true community, if it meant slowing down and just breathing. Heck, I'd even go to church every Sunday and read the Bible to the kids.
Tonight before they went to bed, I told the kids they need to remember those Amish people ALWAYS. They need to remember that those people were kind to complete strangers, that they owed nothing to any of us. And I told my kids that those people are good people, and I want them to grow up to be good people, too.
How big is the price of modern convenience?
I don't know for sure--but I can tell you that I, and my family, are paying it. With interest.
