A few thoughts… on Nov. 6 at 8:30 a.m.

By Sandy Compton
Reader Columnist

When I was young, I had a book, I Have Five Pennies, in which a young boy is sent to the store by his mom for groceries. She gives him five pennies for himself, and as he goes, he sings, “I have five pennies to spend on candy; all for myself! Isn’t that dandy?” Along the way, though, he meets five creatures searching for life basics. I can’t remember all of them, but one is a hungry squirrel, and another is a robin searching for nest-building materials. All are in some sort of need.

On display at the store is a big, intricately decorated lollipop — priced at five cents. The boy is about to buy it when he remembers he isn’t the only creature in the world, and realizes need is more important than want. So, he spends his pennies on nuts for the squirrel and yarn for the robin and whatever it is the other creatures need. He then runs happily home, giving his friends good gifts as he goes. 

As things seem to work out in kid’s books, he gets home to discover that the grocer has secretly put the lollipop in the bottom of the bag as reward for his unselfish generosity. What’s interesting is that even if the grocer hadn’t given him the lollipop, the boy would have been happy with how things turned out by taking care of his friends. 

He had transcended “me first.” 

Today, we seem to be living in a “me first” world, where ordinary courtesy is abandoned and it doesn’t seem to matter what others need, only what we want. We have become a nation of selfish scofflaws and spoiled children. It’s as if we never left first grade. We can’t even bring ourselves to pay attention to traffic laws. First and fastest seems to be the only way some can drive — or do anything. We adore instant gratification; exchanging our futures and those of our children for toys we can’t afford. We idolize violence in movies and print. We embrace titillation in exchange for factual reporting. We choose leaders who will take us deeper into divisiveness, anarchy and the “me first” way of acting (note that I almost wrote “thinking”) instead of leading us to heal differences, learn to get along and take care of each other.

I had a dream last night — a ramble through places I know only in dreams, spots on the foggy edges of real life recognizable only because I’ve visited them before. I remember these details: I was to clean areas next to a friend’s barn with a weed whacker, I had an appointment at a dream-familiar medical clinic and I had another appointment at a hospital. Because of the appointments, I never got around to weed whacking. I went to one appointment at the wrong time, and so missed both. I’m not sure what this had to do with anything real, but the central themes were uncertainty and confusion. 

As a country, we’ve made an appointment with a very uncertain future and a bunch of confusion. I won’t dwell on what I see as disastrous possible outcomes. They may manifest soon enough, and some Americans will be kicking themselves in that very pocketbook they voted for with their short-sighted, xenophobic, cheaper-gas-and-groceries decisions. That’s my opinion, and I’m hoping I am completely wrong, but I doubt it. 

Maybe “me first” is what the American dream has become. But when those groceries arrive at home, my guess is that they won’t be much cheaper, and there will certainly be no lollipop in the bottom of the bag. 

Sandy Compton will be signing a new book, Something About Miracles, at Vanderford’s Books (321 N. Second Ave., in Sandpoint) on Saturday, Dec. 14.