There was a writing challenge with the topic of "Things that I care About", and this popped out. I'm not sure it even has a strong enough focus to make a point, but it did for me.
Are we born caring about some things more than others, born with any sense of right or wrong? When, for example, a kid becomes contrary and pushes back, they do so with some understanding of right and wrong, not because of innate knowledge, but because of what they’ve learned from their parents. Their parents.
When I was a kid, I was actually a good kid. Perhaps part of it was related to the fact that I was an only child, so I went everywhere with my parents (never had a baby sitter) and was usually treated as just one of the family – essentially an equal. My parents were good to me, and I was as good as I could be in return. I appreciated them. Perhaps, feeling like an equal had more aspects to it than I knew.
I remember one time when, perhaps 8 or 10 years old, I was dressed up early to go visit some family friends, and my mother cautiously let me go out to play “in my good clothes”. I foolishly took a walk in a nearby wooded area, crossed the creek, slipped on a wet rock and came home wet, dirty and very sad.
Just telling this story triggers memories of two other occasions, when I felt exactly the same way. One Sunday evening during my first year of driving, in my parents’ car, I traveled quite a bit farther with a few friends than I should have. Of course the car broke down, and luckily a passing stranger helped me get the car fixed. I got home very late. I was sad.
The third event, somewhere between high school and college, was a common transgression for a teenager, I suppose – I came home a bit intoxicated, so much so that it was clear to my parents. I was sad.
For these three transgressions, by sad, I mean that I cried like a baby. In part I was embarassed, but I think the major aspect was that I had to face them; they acted understanding but I had disappointed them, and it was very hard to accept. I had hurt them and it was easy to see.
I’ve watched myself often make decisions of right and wrong by perhaps thinking of what effect an action would have on my parents if they found out. Even as an adult, I didn’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want them to ever ask “why would you do such a thing?”
Remembering my childhood, I know we didn’t have money, we didn’t have much, but it was important that we had something to offer others – consistency, friendship, and standards.
Decades have passed. I’m sure my own “adult” ethical compass developed based on many influences and experiences, but still, my mother died, my father died, and the biggest impact that I felt was not losing them from my daily life, but losing them as silent observers of their son. There is no longer anyone for me to disappoint - not like them.
I’m looking at what I’ve written. An ethical compass should come from within. It should be my own, not just a feeling of parental approval/disapproval. I think the answer is here. Perhaps it is not about disappointing my parents but disappointing our family, which included me. Looking back, I can see that as a group we were constantly defining ourselves. I was an equal contributor in this too. I remember conversations about what should be “done next”. I recall, as a kid, finding someone’s wallet. It even had money in it! I was excited, and of course I showed my family. With my father we looked through the phone book, called some numbers, found the owner, and even took it to them. What we were doing was never defined to me as “the right thing”, but it was the clear choice.
This is good for me to finally see, that by becoming an equal family member, together we developed priorities, so they were really shared between the three of us. When I came home that day, wet from falling into the creek in my good clothes, I cried because I not only disappointed them, but I disappointed me.
I was a very lucky kid. An ethical compass fell into my lap, that evolved over many years. Thanks Mom and Dad!
