It's All About the Benjamin

I personally don't know anyone with negative feelings toward $100 bills, bifocals, or pilgrim buckle shoes. Therefore, I conclude we all love Benjamin Franklin.

Many years ago I read his autobiography. I love to see where a great man comes from. I was surprised to learn he was a gifted swimmer. Never pictured him as a swimmer. He's not exactly built like Michael Phelps. Then again, Michael Phelps didn't write an almanac, so I say Ben wins that duel.

Two Franklin quotes that surface often:

"LOSE AN HOUR IN THE MORNING AND YOU WILL BE HUNTING IT ALL DAY." (I think of this every single day due to my mattress addiction.)

"IT IS EASIER TO SUPPRESS THE FIRST DESIRE THAN TO SATISFY ALL THAT FOLLOW IT." (I think of this every time I open a bag of Cadbury minis or those light blue Ghiradelli chocolate sea salt caramel squares.)

Young Benjamin was firmly shaped from what I surmise was a mild and completely average childhood experience. I'm going to directly quote the section of his autobiography I refer to as "Ben Franklin Rocks" but ask that you prepare yourself; colonists of yesteryear loved the comma and the run-on:

"There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, on the edge of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much trampling we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a wharf there fit for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my playfellows, and working with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharf. The next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which were found in our wharf. Inquiry was made after the removers; we were discovered and complained of; several of us were correct by our fathers; and, though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest."

I love that last bit. I'm so glad Benjamin Franklin's dad was resolute even though the other dads applauded the muscle and ingenuity involved in solving the muddy beach issue. I'm glad Father Franklin taught his practical son hard work is useless if you are not honest. 

When I became a parent I decided I would never ask my child to do something I myself was not willing to do. I would not have a rule for her that I did not also obey myself. I figured she would respect me more if I wasn't a hypocrite. Of course, like countless other parents, I have taught my daughter we do not steal. We don't steal homework answers, pens from the bank, or bites from the bulk section at the grocery store. If a trick-or-treating house has a bowl that says PLEASE TAKE TWO we only take two. Not stealing is simple, right?

Bueller?

It has never been easier to thieve because the things we are stuffing in our pockets are digital, weightless, and invisible. I love how society calls it "sharing" when really it is "stealing." There is a lot of hard work going on to beat the system, cheat the system or avoid the system. Here's a tip: if it has a copyright then copying it is wrong. Just save up and support the artist. Don't borrow it if you aren't going to give it all back. As an artist who had her work illegally copied, printed, and resold let me assure you violation was icky and felt sadder than the time my beach cruiser was stolen.

Sometimes food for thought takes time to digest. The rock story tugged and pricked at my conscience. Was I an art-stealing jerk, the very person I loathed? I profess to be an honest Christian but my moral compass failed its safety inspection after I poked around my possessions. Let me just say there were some stolen rocks in my font suitcase, movie drawer, and music library, none of which were taken with a conscious, iniquitous effort. 

I decided to throw away my stolen rocks and buy new ones from a rock store if possible. There was some cost involved, especially on iTunes, but my compass works again. It is polished and shiny and pointing to Honest North. Some might mistake this as piety; I'm merely trying to be aware.

It's never too late to return a stolen rock. I personally know a lady in her 60s who felt badly for 50 years over a stapler she stole in grade school.  Even though the store she took it from had long since closed she made restitution by mailing a new stapler and note of apology to the business in the original location...FIVE DECADES LATER.

Rock on, rock out, and rock and roll. But be careful with rocks.

Archer's wooden Pinocchio from Firenze, a gift from my EuroAunt. She did not steal it.