Scraps

One of the most common dilemmas parents face when raising young children is how messy they can be as they learn to eat food or play with materials like paints.

At a very early age, one or so, they may enjoy messing up their highchair tray and the floor below with the foods you serve them. It then falls to the parent, usually Mom, to clean it up.

That can be a bummer, especially when you are feeling overwhelmed by other challenges in the home and at work. But from the research I've seen, something of longer term significance is what may be at stake here.

That food play may be an early impulse toward creativity; experimenting with food in a way that might be viewed as an early impulse toward art.

So if you let them go on with it, you may be supporting their creative growth. Alternatively, if you stifle this impulse ("Now, now, let's not be messy"), you may be suppressing that native drive.

On the other hand, if you don't establish boundaries, you may be helping to create a self-indulgent individual who is always expecting others to clean up his/her messes in life.

Somewhere in all of this is a balance, where the child feels empowered to play instinctively but becomes aware of the consequences of doing so.

All of this occurred to me anew recently when I discovered the aftermath of my six and nine year old granddaughters playtime on the couch. We get a lot of deliveries around here and they love to play with the packing materials that arrive at the front door.

As you may be able to see from the photograph above, they used three sets of scissors and a sheet of styrofoam to create a piece that resembles a happy face. Nothing too original there save for the methodology.

And the mess they left behind.

Their parents didn't seem to mind at all.

Guess who cleaned up, sort of? That's right, their old, silver-haired Grandpa. At least mostly; he left a few random pieces of styrofoam behind for good measure.

***

One of my assumptions is that every person is inherently creative. Some let it out more than others; some get rewarded for it, some don't.

I'm sure there is much more to who ends up writing, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, and story-telling than the pedestrian psychological explanation offered above. There are no doubt pivotal moments when someone says something, or a specific experience triggers a response.

Take this with a giant grain of sea salt. I most definitely am not a shrink -- though I have been shrunk a lot -- so my theory could be way off course.

But I believe we can never have too many stories, too many songs or too many pictures. Or too much inspiration.

"You're always on my mind
You're in my heart
In my soul

You're the meaning in my life
You're the inspiration
You bring feeling to my life" -- Chicago

***

The social media crackdown on Trump/s messages of racism, hate and inciting violence continues. Twitter and Facebook label his messages when they cross the line; Twitch and Reddit have now suspended accounts related to Trump's toxic messaging.

It may be too late, many will argue, as the damage has been done, but it is still an encouraging  sign that there are limits to what will be tolerated.

We so badly need a return to a more civil discourse, where we can disagree without demeaning one another. To accomplish this we will need a leader who has compassion for those who are on the other side from him/her politically.

I don't see that kind of leadership right now. The Democrats seem intent on exploiting Trump's communication deficiencies for political gain.

***

Scroll down beneath this essay to see my sister Carole's beautiful, sad commentary on drug and alcohol addiction. Here is a scourge that, like Covid-19, cuts across political parties and all other human boundaries. Especially now, with so many isolating themselves, addicts are at increased risk of retreating from the outside world.

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay

There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction
Oh, beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins

Let me be empty
Oh, and weightless, and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold, hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

-- Sarah McLachlan

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