The Peripatetic Philosopher shares:

From the pages of my new book,

 SELF-CONFIDENCE:  

SOMETHING EVERYONE DESERVES!

NOTE:

This will be out soon in paperback on www.amazon.com’s Kindle Library

IF IDENTITY DOESN’T START EARLY, CHANCES ARE IDENTITY WILL BE LIKE RIDING A ROLLER COASTER!

 “Unlike a drop of water which loses its identity when it joins the ocean, man does not lose his being in the society in which he lives. Man's life is independent. He is born not for the development of the society alone, but for the development of his self.”

B. R. Ambedkar (1891 - 1956), Buddhist and Indian economist

IDENTITY AND THE WINE OF AGE

As I was shopping for school clothes with my two nine-year-old twin grandsons and their mother they were full of questions as we stopped at MacDonald’s. Out of the blue, Keaton asked, “Why do baseball players have so many tattoos?” 

“Some even have tattoos on their faces,” chimed in Killian. 

“My favorite player on the Tampa Bay Rays, Evan Longoria, colors his hair in streaks, wears it in a Mohawk, or sometimes shaves his head completely,” observed Keaton.  "It's weird."

 

“Yes, he’s always changing his hair,” agreed Killian.  "I think it's funny."

I told the twins I didn’t know why athletes do such things.  Athletes tend to be superstitious, I know, and play their hunches.  Should they be hitting for average or hitting home runs, they often attribute the success to the bat they are currently using, or what they were doing when the streak started, repeating that routine to the letter.

Likewise, when they are in a slump, they work on the problem by watching film, listening to coaches and teammates, hitting off a tee to check out their swing, or engage in some idiosyncratic behavior designed to lift them out of the nosedive. 

As for the tattoos, sixty years ago, players such as Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams and Stan Musial, if they had tattoos, they didn’t flash them with authority as athletes do today.  Tattoos have become close to mainstream for the American culture in general.  Critics see them as self-destructive, while advocates see them as art, still others see them as America’s collective personality in something of an identity crisis.  In any case, those who have them will justify them while those who abhor them will look on them with disgust.

Not so long ago, the so-called “steroid era” found baseball players attempting to bulk up by using banned substances to maximize their leverage with increased bat speed and power.  These athletes were willing to sacrifice long term health for short term advantage.  Many such athletes have indeed paid the price by dying early.

The consuming problem of identity occurs about the age of my grandsons, which is nine.

“When you are my age,” I said, “and your grandsons are about your age now, they will be feeling the same pressures and have the same curiosities about how other people act, dress, treat their bodies and minds, and what they feel is important.  It will be different, I’m sure, but just as compelling as those who feel a need today to paint their bodies with tattoos.  These things are formed at about your age, but then once formed it is pretty hard to get past them.”

They looked at me curiously.  “I don’t know what you mean, grandpa,” said Keaton. 

“That is because these things have yet to touch you.  What I share with you now will likely reside in the back of your minds to be brought up one day when you are older, remembering this conversation with your grandfather.

  

They were now paying attention, their ice cream cones dripping seemingly of no concern.     

“Your grandfather has had a very easy life because, unknown to him when he was your age, his behavior as a nine-year-old would prove significant.  It is what has made for a happy life.”

“You work all the time, grandpa,” Keaton declared, “I’m interested in fun, not work.”

“I suppose you could call doing research, writing books and articles, work, but for me it is fun, the most fun I have had in my life.”

“It is like school, papa.  I like school,” Killian added in support, “but Keaton doesn’t.”

Again, I felt we could wander off on a tangent, so I asked, “Can I tell you what it was like when I was nine-years-old, and going into fourth grade like you are?”

“Yes!” they said but with questioning eyes.

“When I was your age, America was at war.  They called it World War Two as there had been a World War One a generation before your grandfather was born. 

“I grew up in what was called the Great Depression, meaning a lot of fathers were out of work, and families had to do with little.  We got used to getting along with little, and then the war came, and the little we had was now rationed, which meant that even if you had money there was only so much sugar and meat and other foods you could buy.

“There was no MacDonald’s, and even if there had been, few could afford to eat there.  It was a different time, just as this is a different time for you two.  

"What the future will be like when you are eighty-years-old is not known, but it will be different.  There will, however, be the same problems of identity.  Identity is always the same problem but it differs generation to generation.”

“Identity?” Keaton asked, “I don’t know what that word means.”

“It means knowing who you are.”

“I know who I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.  I am Keaton Fisher.  That is who I am.”

“No, Keaton.  That is your name.  That is not who you are.  You don’t know who you are until you are challenged with life lessons that tell you who you are.  

"Once they occur, and they will occur, if they haven’t already, situations that don’t at the time seem too important.  But in due course, they will prove important as you move into your teens, twenties, thirties, and all the way to your eighties.

“When I was a boy of nine going on ten, several things happened that I can look back on now and realize their significance.  I'd like to share a couple.”

They nodded, Keaton with his hands under his chin.

“When I was going into the fourth grade, my da took me by the hand and marched me downtown to the Martin Morris Sporting Goods & Clothing Store to buy school clothes for me, like I have been doing for you two today.

“The clerk in the store had been a school chum of my da’s and they talked and talked about the old days, and about classmates, while my da had me pick out pants and shirts, underwear and socks, sweaters and jackets, shoes and galoshes.  When I was done, my da told the clerk to wrap it up, and charge him.

“The clerk looked at my da hesitantly, and said he’d have to check my da’s credit.   He did, and came back and said he was sorry, that only cash would do.

“My da’s confident smile shriveled to a look of terror, an expression I had never seen before.  It was as if he collapsed to my size, and was no longer in charge.  I found myself saying, 'We don’t want this stuff,' taking my da’s hand and marching him out of the store.  

"Once outside, his hands shaking so bad he could hardly light his cigarette.  He was crushed, but I was defiant.  I didn’t know why but I hated that clerk, hated that store, and hated everything that it represented.”

“You did that?” Killian asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Killian, I did that, and it became a pattern.”

“Pattern?  Why do you use all these big words, grandpa?” asked Keaton, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean it wasn’t an isolated incident.  For example, when the Courthouse Tigers, the guys I played baseball with over at the courthouse grounds, all went to the movies, I guess everyone planned on going to the Capitol Theatre where the comedians Bud Abbot and Lou Costello were playing.  Next door, the Rialto Theatre, had a historical drama of the Northwest Passage.  I wanted to see it, and said I’d meet them all after the movie ended.  

"They called me a spoil sport, but I felt nothing of the sort.  I wasn’t going to a movie I didn't want to see because everyone else was, or doing so because they insisted I do."

“I would have preferred the funny show,” said Keaton.  “I'd probably like the other movie,” said Killian, “but I'd want to be with everyone else.  Would that be wrong?”

“No, it wouldn’t be, Killian.  At that early age, it wasn’t likely someone would want to go his own way, but in my case, it was.  I was simply showing Keaton that a pattern, a way of looking at things, was already active in my personality, in my personal identity.  That didn’t make it right or wrong, just unusual in a boy of nine.  

“My reason for sharing this with you is that others, people you like, people who may fail to make wise choices, may persuade you to do what they plan on doing, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, cheating in school, misusing other people’s things, all sorts of behaviors, only because they don’t want to do these things alone.  Many young people have a problem when faced with this possibility.  I never did.

"By having you do these things with them they justify in their minds that it is all right to do them, when it clearly is not.  People don't like to do unwise things alone.”

“Daddy talks about making wise choices.  Is that what you mean?” asked Keaton.

“It goes beyond wise or right choices.  I’m talking about identity.  You mention Evan Longoria and his peculiar behavior.  Kids see what he does and they copy that behavior because he is a famous baseball player, not realizing they are copying him at the expense of discovering their own identity.”

“Daddy says you’re different, grandpa,” stated Keaton, “Is that what he means?”

“You’d have to ask him.  My reason for telling you this goes back to what I said in the beginning.  Your grandfather has had a very easy life and a happy one because of those lessons learned when he was your age.”

The beauty of being a writer is that should they forget this conversation it will still be there in print somewhere long after their grandfather is gone.  I suspect then it will bring a smile to their faces.