Lunch Box Longing

Just have no mind on things and no things on mind, and you will naturally be empty and spiritual, tranquil and sublime. - Te-Shan in the Zen Calendar (December 16, 2006).

Day 99. Triple digits tomorrow! Awesome.

When I was five and six, my best friend was a boy that lived behind me. His name was David. In first grade he had a lunch box that I coveted. It was a Daffy Diner lunch box, and I can picture it perfectly to this day. It was vinyl rather than the usual square tin ones, and shaped like construction workers' lunch boxes, with an oval top to hold the thermos. It was bright yellow (not school bus yellow), and the sides of it were like windows looking into a diner. One of the windows showed a couple at a booth. The guy was trying to pour ketchup on his french fries, and the ketchup had squirted out in a big red splatter. Six-year-olds love that kind of stuff. Man, I dug that lunch box.

My little brother was born while I was in first grade, and my mom wasn't working so she could stay home with him. Our needs were met, but my dad didn't make a lot of money, and I already had a lunch box. I found out that Langston Drug, an old drugstore four blocks from my house, had exactly two Daffy Diner lunch boxes left on the shelf. Two or three times a week, I would walk up to the drugstore after school to "visit" the lunch boxes. Crazy, I know, but in 1967 six-year-olds walked alone all over their neighborhoods. I just couldn't get that lunch box out of my head. I really, REALLY wanted it.

My brothers and I grew up with the "Wait 'til pay day" reason for not getting everything from Oreo cookies to new shoes. The other line we heard, which never made sense to me, was "Wait until the books close." Years later, my mom explained that this meant wait until the current billing cycle on the JC Penney credit card had ended, so that the charges wouldn't be due for another month. My parents didn't believe in carrying credit card debt. They only charged what they could pay in full at the end of the month, which usually amounted to less than $40. I got both of these lines in response to my lunch box longing. That and the obvious: "You already have a lunch box." It was a red, plaid, tin square. I hated it.

One day in spring, just after I walked home from school, my mom loaded up me and Baby Ryan and drove us to Langston Drug. We entered the store and my mom marched right up the center aisle, plucked the last Daffy Diner lunch box off the shelf, handed it to me, and headed for the cashier. I was stunned. I clutched that lunch box and followed her. She paid the three dollars and change and we got back into the car. As I recall, neither of us said a word. We were both grinning like bandits. It was like we'd just pulled off a successful heist. The implied conspiracy was simple: Don't tell Daddy. But sometimes a girl needs a new lunch box.

I may still have that lunch box somewhere. Can't imagine throwing it away. I carried it until fourth grade, when brown paper sacks became the proper lunch tote. I adored my Daffy Diner lunch box with a fierce pride usually reserved for family heirlooms. I don't remember asking for another material object for the rest of that year and well into the next one. I was ecstatic, sated, content. And grateful. So very grateful.

I didn't know that I would tell my lunch box story in such great detail tonight. I am filled with a strange sense of nostalgia and poignancy as I write about it. My original thought had to do with the anger and frustration I am experiencing over the lust for material things that underscores so many problems in the world. Buddhism nails it with the understanding that ego attachment is the root of all suffering. This attitude of, "I want the biggest piece, the last piece, the only piece, my piece, your piece, their piece. There isn't enough to go around. I've got to have mine. Mine, mine MINE!" - it infuriates me. There IS enough! But only if we surrender our attachments.

I have a lot to say on this topic of greed and ownership and material possession. Much to lament upon regarding delayed gratification, frugality, and gratefulness. I have a stronger urge, however, to lie on my bed with the breeze blowing across me, remembering the pleasure of carrying my Daffy Diner lunch box. Remembering how good it was to WAIT for it, to long for it so deeply, to feel so thankful for it, to prize and care for it for so long.

Think about what you were attached to when you were six. I guarantee it will give you a new perspective on what you prize now.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc