Born the fifth of eight children with a stay-at-home Mom meant we rarely ate out. But once in a while, the local burger chain ran a .15 cent hamburger special. On those nights we loaded up the red Volkswagon bus for dinner out on the town.
Bright fluorescent lights reflected off the checkerboard of red and white tiles that wrapped around the front of the burger joint. Dad and at least one child stood in the winding line, the sounds and smells of sizzling beef patties wafting around them. Finally, he gave his order to the harried teenager scribbling on a scratch pad and hollering out numbers over her shoulder. Sodas were out of the question when water was perfectly fine and free. French fries were never on special at the same time so we had to share.
Who you shared with had to be considered before you ever stepped into the car since your seat mate would be your fry partner. I hated sharing with my older brother. He could stuff more fries in his mouth than I could. This meant divvying up the fries first. But corralling the now cooling fries with one hand and eating your burger with the other was tricky business on the drive home.
My favorite partner was my younger brother. We worked out the following agreement: 1) take only one fry at a time; 2) take the first fry you touch and 3) no give-backs once you chose your fry. The only exception to the last rule came if one of us pulled out an extra long fry and the next person pulled out an itty bitty one. If that happened, you could root through the remaining fries to find another itty bitty one to make up the difference. Otherwise, we understood that sometimes our fry would be a little shorter and sometimes a little longer, but in the end, it generally balanced out.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was learning some of life’s most important lessons.
Share.
The best deals are negotiated fairly.
Trust your partner to hold up his end.
Hold up your own end.
When it came to the last odd fry, sometimes I didn’t insist we split it but gave it to my brother. Then I felt the stirrings of generosity.
Sometimes my brother gave the last fry to me. Then I felt loved.
In time, I earned my own paycheck. Now I could afford my own fries – and eat all of them without sharing with anyone. But a stab of loneliness came as I picked up the last fry. I had eaten all of them without sharing with anyone.
I take my own children out for fast food now. Though I can afford to buy each person whatever they want, I insist on sharing fries. One child divides up the fries as soon as they are served – “one for you, one for me….” Another keeps a watchful eye, calculating in their head how many fries have been eaten. In the beginning of their sharing experience, they split the last fry. But occasionally, they hand over the last fry to their partner. I know just what they are feeling. They are tasting something far beyond potato, oil and salt and learning something far beyond sharing. Someday, they will buy their own fries. I hope they enjoy eating them all by themselves. And I hope occasionally, they miss sharing, negotiating, trusting, and generously giving. Sometimes, less truly is more.
Leave a Reply