How Much Is Enough

So, the thing is… how much is enough?

My mom is weighing whether or not to retire right now. During the last few years her work climate has become much more stressful and she’s starting to be actively unhappy in the job that she used to love.

“So, what’s to weigh?” I thought. Retirement seems the answer and not just because my children would get to see her more. (They ADORE their Mutti.) She has such an active mind and so many interests outside of work; she’d relish the time to pursue birding and travel and reading. The strain of her job situation is taking its toll on her health and I’m a little worried about her. I strong-armed her a bit. “Come on, mom,” I said. “You’re so ready. What’s the hold-up?”

And then a light bulb went off in my head and I realized that part of her fear of retiring might have to do with a remembrance of wartime scarcity, which is something I can’t begin to understand.

My mom grew up in post-war Germany. Let’s just say the concept of “abundance” was not part of her daily life. For her ninth birthday, her parents gave her an EGG to cook and eat any way that she wanted. She says she was given a banana one year when she was about ten years old and it was completely black. She didn’t know that it was overripe until she saw a yellow one, years later. She calls the years after the war, “the hunger years.” And while she speaks fondly of her childhood, the remembrance of going without is so strong that she still cannot bring herself to throw away food. Some forty-five years after she came to this country, she still struggles to feel secure.

I was thinking about my mom yesterday when I took my girls to Sam’s. For readers in other countries: Sam’s is a huge warehouse-type store that sells everything from tires to bread to perfume, usually in bulk. So you can’t just buy one six-pack of toilet paper –you end up with 96 rolls. The whole enormous warehouse is an ode to conspicuous consumption –just jam-packed with STUFF. I was watching Smiley Jane, who is twenty-two months old and stands all of thirty inches tall. What must she have felt in that vast space? How could she even process the sheer amount of material things stuffed into that cavernous place? (Judging by the amount of shrieking and racing around, I gather she was fairly unfazed.)

But I wondered about my mom’s reaction the first time SHE went to Sam’s. I mean, there was a display of bananas that was as big as my CAR. (Three pounds for $.89.) And then I started thinking about how glad I am that my girls will never (God willing) know the kind of scarcity that shaped my mom’s childhood. Of course, on the other hand, our country seems to have gone to the other extreme. It seems that somewhere along the line, we went from the “Land of Plenty” to the “Land of Overindulgence.” Everything is “super-sized” now –from fast food meals to the huge SUVs we drive to the “superstores” where we do our shopping. We are awash in excess.

So how do we instill in the next generation some sense of value and proportion about food and money and material goods? I don’t want my children to go without and yet I don’t want them growing up as spoiled brats. I don’t want them to come to the conclusion that happiness is found in THINGS, you know? I hope I can instill an appreciation in my kids for the aspects of life that money can’t buy. Things that enrich our lives more than material goods -- like good health and the way babies smell and the feeling of the sun on our skin on the first brisk autumn day.

How do we teach them to be at peace with what they have as opposed to always looking toward the next big purchase? And how will they learn to “live simply so that others may simply live?” I can’t help but feel that the endless pursuit of stuff just for the sake of acquisition is a bit of a slap in the face to those whose lives are much tougher.

I might be overly sensitive to this subject. I worked for a long time in the non-profit world, mostly on behalf of disadvantaged children. I’ve seen children in Texas who routinely go hungry when the last paycheck can’t be stretched to meet the family’s needs. It’s mind-boggling, really, that in this country, people still go hungry every day. And while I don’t want my children to feel GUILTY for their blessings, I also don’t want some jaded teenager who expects to have everything handed to her. (Although, perhaps this is unavoidable during the teenage years?) I don’t think my kids have to suffer true deprivation or hunger to appreciate the bounty out of which we live. But I want them to be aware and I want my kids to feel compassion for others less fortunate.

It’s hard to send the right messages, though. I confess to being an impulse buyer when it comes to my children, especially in things like crayons and markers and pencils and paper. And books. And shoes. And educational toys. It’s excessive. I know it is. While I’ve always loved that really big box of crayons that comes with its own sharpener, in all honesty, I don’t think Jane can tell a big difference between yellow-green and green-yellow. Lately, I’ve heard Ana say on more than one occasion when a favorite toy was broken, “It’s okay. We’ll just buy another one.” Gee, I wonder where she heard THAT?

I was talking to my best friend Linda the other day about the issue of instilling values larger than their immediate world in our children. She said she struggles a bit with this as well but she thinks she’s doing at least two things right. “[My kids] use their own money to buy certain things, like desired toys or treats from the ice cream man. Now granted, that money originated mostly from me, but if they're managing it, at least they get some sense of what that's all about. The other is that, as the kids get bigger, they are exposed to more opportunities to help others. While I'm not sure how much of a concept of helping others a five-year-old has by dropping fifty cents in the offering basket, things like delivering contributions to the food pantry are a little more real.”

So, I guess maybe that’s where I should start. My kids need to see my appreciation for my blessings and they need to see me giving back. They need to see that it’s not okay to wantonly waste food (this is an ongoing struggle in our house). Maybe they should see my husband and me saving and sacrificing for the things we really want. Maybe we should wait for major occasions before giving gifts. And maybe it would serve us well to reacquaint ourselves with the simple pleasures of life, so that our children don’t get the idea that everything worthwhile carries a price tag (or a need for storage.)

Recently, I looked up from a chore to see my husband cuddling with our daughters in the hammock in the backyard. I watched from the door as the three lay there, finding pictures in the clouds. As I ran to join them, I said a prayer of thanks for moments like these, which will do more to shape my children than anything we do consciously. Surely, they are priceless.

And I wished my mom were there.

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Barbara Cooper is the mother of Ana (4) and Jane (22 months). She lives in Austin, Texas and she thinks lying in a hammock is one of life’s greatest pleasures.