I don't know why these things get me so much. I must have been a big disappointment to my parents. I recall my dad giving us a dog three times, each dog presentation somewhat ritualized like some kind of big surprise, each dog named Buster, and each time I had no emotional response. Walk 'em, right. Feed 'em, right. Like that's going to happen. I couldn't have cared less about dogs. If my brother had been excited then I would have been too, I'd have taken my response cues from him, so apparently he didn't care either. The dogs never fit into our adventures. They were not part of any scene away from the house. I vaguely recall each one outside in the yard a few times. Until after high school when I got an Alsatian. My dad disliked the dog so much, and disliked me having it, he couldn't even call it a German Shepherd. It's a British prejudice. They couldn't stand the name of a dog breed that had "German" in it. England has a lot of such national resentments. They sure did engage a lot of wars.
7 comments:
I don't know why these things get me so much.
Are you looking for a clue? In what situations have you experienced young children presenting with "no emotional response"?
The contrast between what transpired with the Buster's and the amount of enthusiasm and enjoyment conveyed in previous posts about the wonderful dogs who later graced your life when you were an adult is very great. Almost a dramatic as the videos of hope coming alive in children when they finally meet a dog they want and feel safe and free enough to emotionally and relationally respond.
Safety and trust play a key role in the formation and development of attachment, attunement and resilience.
Life would go so much smoother without all the emotion ha ha ha.
P.S. Hey Chip, thanks for showing me the chambray shirts available at Amazon. I just received the one I ordered, manufactured by an outfit called Key Clothes, and I'm very satisfied with it. Nice material, light weight, generous fit.
For as unsettling and undoing, exciting and overwhelming as I'm finding moving to be, I can only imagine what it would be like for a child to enter into multiple moves with his family to different homes, countries, cultures and schools at the apparent whim or command of an all powerful and performance oriented adult or superior. I'm guessing such experiences would involve as much, if not different or more, emotion than I am currently encountering along with gains and losses that could not be fully recognized or reconciled at the time, but would show up later in life as advantages and disadvantages, character enhancers and deficits to be celebrated or reconciled.
When I sit with people and listen to their stories, I consider confusion and surprise to be two entry point emotions that often lead to more awareness. With encouragement, surprise can open the door to the interest, intrigue and curiosity needed to regard and express the two-handed reality of Truth and Grace that is present in most life situations and experiences.
I love the title of the post: Stuffed puppy becomes real! Yes indeed. I see it reflecting not only what happens in the video, but also what takes place in life when held or stuffed emotion is recognized, released and invited into expression through art, music or movement or healthy connection with others in animal and human form.
I'm laughing ricpic, and not. While I believe the desire to create and recognize beauty and and excellence and enter into expression and engagement through language, color, words, sound and movement is intrinsic, I also believe it needs to be encouraged and supported during childhood by another (and it only needs to be one) for it to remain present and flourish in adulthood. That other is usually one who functions with whole brained awareness, able to access, regard and integrate thought and feeling, reason and emotion together.
Which makes me wonder who in your past (alive or perhaps in books) may have modeled or encouraged love of art along with playful poetic awareness? Too deep?? Ha Ha! Too bad! Or too Good, depending on perspective!
My Dad would take me to the museums (plural because in New York there was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney Museum (American art) as well as the Museum of Natural History (that one would have been heaven for chick) to choose from on the odd Sunday when he could catch a few free hours from his 60 hour weeks. That's the only way art becomes natural as opposed to intimidating for a kid: regular exposure to it. It was also helpful that he didn't have a worshipful attitude toward art. I had an aunt and uncle who were art groupies, they were gaga for the latest thing, the avant garde. My Dad inoculated me against that madness.
Interesting that you write "playful poetic awareness" because that's what I think poetry is -- play.
Oh man did I massacre those parentheses.
Stop crying you're scaring the shit out of the puppy.
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