Does anyone ever return a borrowed book?  Chances are that the only time most people fulfill an obligation to return a book is when they have borrowed it from the library; and even then, accountability is often viewed in a rather casual manner.  Unless you are a college student who cannot afford the escalating overdue fines, the majority of the population does not live in fear of due dates imposed by their local library.

Most of us are familiar with the phenomenon that occurs when books are shared between friends and acquaintances.  The traditional definition of the word “borrow” seldom applies to these exchanges.  Any time that I have allowed someone to “borrow” a book, I have resigned myself to the possibility that I may never see it again.  On the rare occasions that I have actually had someone return a book to me, it is always, without exception, from a friend who is a devout follower of the same book religion that I practice.

I am always willing to share a good read, particularly since I have abandoned the unrealistic notion that I will read a novel a second time.  If I already know how the story turns out, what is the point?  The only reason to keep a book that I will never read again is to add it to a shelf full of other books I have read, while still clinging to the illusion that my collection serves to impress others (and myself) with the number of books that I have read.  In any case, I have become more relaxed when offering to pass along a good book that I am certain I will never want to look through again.

On the other hand, I have plenty of other books that I would have some difficulty parting with.  These include books that are of sentimental value, classics that I do intend to read more than once, or several others that I continue to use for reference.  My books are important to me.  I grant requests to lend them if the borrower meets one of two requirements: either they are a trusted friend who understands that I reserve the right to conduct an annoying and relentless campaign to have the book returned to me when they are finished using it, or they agree to hand over their first-born child after signing their name to a contract written in their own blood.  This second requirement is no longer necessary since I have learned that it is much easier to just say “no.”

Perhaps it is old age, but I no longer feel compelled to justify my reasons for declining to share certain personal possessions that I simply choose not to.  Books are one thing.  I think that we all have personal items, tangible and otherwise, that we assign varying levels of value to.  These values may very well be as individual as we are.

My cousin Candace once reminded me that “you don’t have to respond to every single request and inquiry that is made of you.”  Candace is wise.  We are also not required to make excuses when we choose not to respond to certain requests, either.  Although I value the energy that generosity cultivates within my spirit, I do not feel the love in being expected to share certain things with others that I have not offered to give.

Writing the above statement has stirred faint murmurs within that whisper judgmental words that I have heard over time, like “greedy” and “selfish.”  If I am still sorting out these concepts as an adult, I can realize the challenge that parents and care-givers face when guiding young minds in the virtue of generosity, while emphasizing the value in preservation of self.  When we force our children to share everything that they have with their siblings and playmates, we are essentially removing their innate ability to experience the joy in giving.

When Kat was young, we participated in a playgroup that was sponsored through our local church.  The group met once a week.  Since the church was not equipped to meet the needs of the large group of mothers and children, we decided to take turns hosting the meetings in our own homes.  Like most of my experience in volunteer organizations, it ended up being the same four moms who would offer their homes to a group of at least a dozen other moms,  including at least twice as many kids.  If you can imagine  over twenty children under the age of five years descending upon one household, you can grasp the toy-sharing issues that inevitably ensued.

Being the church group that we were, the concept of sharing was encouraged.  Little tempers often flared and less assertive hosts stood by to watch their possessions used, strewn about, or worse, become ‘accidentally’ broken.  I am describing a scenario that seems more chaotic than it actually was, but my most vivid recollection is that of those ‘crushed’ expressions on little faces that were told that they had to share their prized possessions with others.  Maybe they did not want to have someone else scribble in their favorite coloring book, undress their doll, or take down the duplo tower they spent time building.

When it was our turn to host the playgroup, I spent the day before letting Kat decide what she wanted to share with her guests.  I let her know that it was okay to choose toys that she preferred not to share.  We put those items away in her brother’s room (a stack of books among them….where does she get that from?) and decided that it was acceptable to inform her guests that the baby’s room was off-limits.  When our guests arrived the next day, parents and kids were respectful of our decision to keep Jim’s room private.  There were some who appeared more than happy to enforce the new rule with others among us who exhibited nosy tendencies or assumed their own air of privilege.  Private rooms that contained items that children chose not to share became the standard practice after that.

Kat was thrilled to share her toys, her room, and her home because she had the power to decide what she offered to others.  She discovered that her magna-doodle was broken once everyone had left, and I remember how easily she accepted it as a consequence of the choice that she had made in deciding to share it.  It was a four-year-old “shit happens” shoulder shrug, just a minor glitch compared to the joy she experienced in sharing the parts of her world that she wanted to.

I can see when Caroline is becoming overwhelmed with her little brother.  As babies tend to do,  Anson gets close enough to start grabbing everything within Cara’s current space of the playroom.   I tell Cara to choose what she is willing to share with him, and I let her know that it is perfectly acceptable to put anything else out of his reach.  Anson is seven months old, so it makes absolutely no difference to him whether he is biting and drooling all over Ariel or Cinderella’s head.  It is Caroline who beams with joy as she watches Anson “borrow” the doll that SHE decided to offer him.

Of course, there remains that one friend you may know who helps themselves to everything in your home, bullying their way through your DVD collection, your make-up basket, or perhaps even your books (gasp!).  Whether you have offered these things or not is of no consequence to them, since they would welcome you to help yourself to any of their things that you don’t want.

You could resort to hiding the items that you are not ready to loan, but what a pain that is.  This is when it is okay to just say “no.”  Whether they think that you are being stingy, or not, is none of your business.  Then again, there’s always the option of offering them a contract signed with their own blood…

Tags: borrowed book, personal possessions, playgroup, toy sharing, virtue of generosity