Sharing Sucks

The other day at the Tot Lot Milo was playing with a purple ball we'd brought when some kid came along with a red ball. The kid reached out and grabbed Milo's purple ball and, without a moment's hesitation, Milo reached out and grabbed the kid's red ball. I couldn't help but think, that's my boy.

Later on Steven and I were discussing the incident and I mentioned how proud I was of Milo that he hadn't cried or gotten pissy about the kid taking his ball, but instead had exacted swift justice.

"Yeah," said Steven. "You like when he's aggressive."

"It's not that I'm in favor of being aggressive," I said. "I just think that sharing is overrated."

It wasn't until I said it that I realized I really belived it. When you're a kid you get beaten over the head with how you're supposed to share this and share that and everyone can play with your toys and it's okay. Well you know what? It's not okay. I want to play with my toys and I don't want to let anyone else use them. So there.

I have, in fact, been awful at sharing for most of my life. As a little kid I always hated the segments on Sesame Street where they talked about how you had to share. Those sharing muppets always seemed so whiny and sniveling. As a teenager I was terrible at sharing friends, and over the years have lost many a best friend due to jealous sniping. And to this day I don't like sharing a bed -- Steven always says that if we had it my way we'd be sleeping in different wings of the house. So I don't want to share any goddamned balls at the Tot Lot either.

I realize this attitude is not going to go over big with the other mothers at the Tot Lot, let alone the battery of teachers that await Milo over the course of his life. But I don't think I can teach Milo the importance of something that I don't think is important. Which I guess is why people have two parents. One who can teach the value of sharing. And the other who can tell you to take your filthy hands off my purple ball because it is MINE.