Evergreen Park Elementary carried a tradition of having the fifth grade class take a field trip to Valleyfair each spring, specifically with only a day or two left of school. My classroom had the lucky circumstance of spending a day in the pouring rain: shoes turned sponges, bathroom blow-dryers more coveted than Dippin' Dots, and only 25% of the rides actually operating. The weather has nothing to do with the point of my post, but I'm still bitter that Monroe Elementary had a beautiful sunshiney day and we didn't. (My mom, Mrs. I Come to Every Field Trip Feasably Possible, didn't even come having forecast the weather, but again, I digress.)
So, the point of my writing today shall not be manifest, but rather latent and one of those that make you wonder if you're person A or person B. Read on my friends.
It was the end of the day at Valley-this-blows, and Ms. Muscala's class was congregated at the exit gates. We were right next to some food vendors, and my classmate Johnny was eyeing them like a stranded skinny Tom Hanks would a school of fish: Food, he was thinking. I need food. But Johnny didn't have money, nor a spear to strike some fish in the nearby wishing fountain. He turned to me and asked if he could borrow five dollars to buy a soft pretzel. He promised to pay me back the next day, the last day of school.
I didn't think twice. What was there to think twice about? The kid was hungry. I had five dollars. He needed five dollars. He said he'd pay me back. I was no rocket scientist, but also did not lack logical thought processes.
"Here you go," I said. In return I received a smile the size of the giant pretzel he was soon to devour.
He chose cinnamon-sugar, my personal favorite. "Nice choice," I said.
Nanoseconds later, the pretzel was gone, and minutes later we were off to catch the buses. The day had actually been quite fun, spent with my best three friends, splashing through puddles and pretending we were mice getting a bath while on Mad Mouse, one of the few rollercoasters that was actually open. The IMAX theater was air-conditioned, harboring fear of hypothermia rather than safety, but the rainbow that appeared once stepping out made it completely worth it. Plus we got to learn about polar bears.
Naturally, my mother asked how the day went. She was happy to hear I had had so much fun, despite the downpour.
...And then I told her about the five dollars.
"What?!? You borrowed it to him and actually believed him?! Honey, tomorrow is the last day of school--you're never going to get that money back!! I can't believe you did that. He has no intention of paying you back. Oh my gawd..."
"Mom, it's *lent, not borrowed." -Just kidding, that didn't actually happen.
Words verbatim, I don't remember exactly. I don't remember what I said or did in response either. But the above words convey whatever message she spoke and stuck with me. I just remember being so confused as to why it was such a big deal that I had borrowed Johnny the five dollars.
Then it dawned on me. When Johnny told me he would pay me back the next day, I believed him. I didn't question whether he would forget, couldn't actually afford it, or if he was lying altogether. To be honest, five dollars just wasn't that big of a deal to me. Granted, it was probably my mom's money to give back, but my perception of an adult is that five dollars really isn't that big of a deal when you make a thousand dollars a day (my fifth-grader idea of what my mom made). Plus, it would have been a "charitable" cause--I fed the needy!
Johnny told me something at face value and I took it for what it was worth. I did not yet have the acumen accredited for judging the risk of lending someone money when the last day you will see them for the rest of your life is the next day. (I knew I was going to a different middle school than Johnny.)
It was the sheer life experience of being my mother's age that lead her to react the way she did; I saw that she assumed the kid was lookin' for a quick five bucks and didn't care whether or not I was paid back. (If it was my brother writing this story, he would probably humorously point out that my mom found out Johnny was black, but what she didn't know was he was an "oreo"...) *nervous laughter* *inside family joke of my mom's racial stereotyping*
I enjoyed my last day at school. My final day as an elementary-school kid! Wow! I said goodbye to friends, gave plenty of hugs, and was filled with nostalgia as I envisioned myself at Jackson Middle School in the fall.
I was panning the room, ready to head out, when someone tapped my shoulder.
It was Johnny, holding an envelope.
"My dad said thank you for lending me the money." He smiled, an innocent fifth-grader smile of a smile. "Thanks again Lisa."
Of course, the event was nothing extraordinary to me. It was, however, very much so for my mom.
She crumbled to goo, touched by the "act of kindness." I was happy to see her disproved, in the most humane possible. But in the midst of witnessing her relief which appeared personally humbling to her, I found myself caught between a certain tension: Was I just a naive 11-year-old who should have reacted the way my mom did, with caution? Or did I possess some humanistic benefit-of-the-doubt outlook that allowed me to trust others simply because they had not yet proved to be untrustworthy?
I decided right then I did not want a malicious attitude. I wanted to find a wise compromise between trusting others but always reacting accordingly to the situation and with intuitiveness. The difference between my mom and I has appeared infinitely throughout my days since being a graduating fifth-grader, most profoundly within issues regarding a father who fails miserably at financial promises. But, I cannot blame my mother for her approach. Experience, hurt, betrayal, environment--they can do that to a person's mindset.
Or not.
She is A, I am B, what are you?
