One of my most vivid positive childhood memories was of the day I discovered the joy of sharing.
I was 5 or 6 years old and had to get a routine immunization shot. Usually I got them the same time as at least one sister but this time for some reason it was just me. My father took me to the clinic in the afternoon just when a lot of cars started appearing on the road. It was the time of day when it seemed as if everyone suddenly realized they had somewhere to go.
A nurse with shiny legs administered the uneventful shot, a needle to the right buttock. I felt it but neither flinched nor exclaimed. I knew that children were expected to be affected when they got injections. It was a valid reason for crying. I remember sitting upright to see the nurse smiling. She was clearly used to children bawling and carrying on. Not me, not that day at least!
She didn’t even cry. Well well, what a big girl. Maybe daddy will buy you a hot dog for a treat? What about that?
I don’t recall knowing what a hotdog was at the time but I knew it was something I didn’t eat. Still, I understood the sentiment and for a moment I felt like I had missed out on a reward, if a hot dog was the treat for not crying during immunizations, and I didn’t eat hotdogs, what was the point of keeping my composure then? But to my surprise my father, never one to miss the opportunity to declare how different we were from everyone else announced triumphantly,
“Well, you know, we don’t eat meat, but maybe she’ll some ice cream.”
Oh! Yes! All was not lost.
On the way home we stoped at a gas station and parking only a few feet away from the entrance he walked inside and came back what seemed like a few seconds later and handed me a flat purple plastic package. It was chocolate, Cadbury Fruit and Nut. I immediately recognized it as my mother’s favorite treat and for a moment thought it was meant for her.
“Hold onto that.”
“Oh! this is mine?”
“Yes, yes.”
I gripped that poor chocolate bar so tightly until father had to take it away from me so that it wouldn’t melt on the drive home but it was too late, by the time we got home the chocolate bar was flexible in its the plastic covering.
I was so eager to eat it immediately but instead father took it and tied a piece of string around it and lowered it into a drum of cool water that was in the front of the yard. In these days we either didn’t have a refrigerator or the current was off, I can’t remember which one.
Later that evening after we sat and ate the requisite rice peas and vegetables, the chocolate bar was fished out of its cold pool and sliced into eight equal portions and everyone enjoyed with equal measure, but me a bit more so.
Aside from when it was someone’s birthday and we bought ice-cream, it wasn’t often we had extra things besides the usual meals. But that night we did and it was thanks to me.
I remember this night so vividly because I was surprised at myself for not feeling angry to not have the entire chocolate for myself. To pick and enjoy for several days while my sisters asked me for a piece and I decided whether or not they deserved it. Maybe this is what I would have done if father didn’t decide for me from the get go that it was to be shared. I don’t know and I’ll never know. After this experience I learned the joy of sharing and it has stayed with me since.
This was my earliest memory of the joys of sharing. I remember on the way home imagining and wondering how i would ever be able to finish this huge treat by myself but very much looking forward to the opportunity to find out! But as soon as we got home and father said I would share it with everyone it was as if my dilemma was solved! I didn’t have to eat it all for myself, I could share it with everyone else.