“Don’t touch that. That’s mine!”
-Larfleeze, the Orange Lantern from Green Lantern
Earlier this week I wrote about the fact that Native American cultures, generally speaking, didn’t have the sense of ownership that Westerners have. There were exceptions, of course, but generally things didn’t belong to people. The one most usual exception were the tools a person used to hunt, gather, etc.
Obviously, as I’ve said before, I’m mixed-blood. I grew up in an entirely Westernized culture. I totally understand ownership. In fact one of my favorite somber song lyrics is from Dido singing “if my life is for rent/and I don’t learn to buy/I deserve nothing more than I get/and nothing I have is truly mine.” But growing up with Cherokee culture, and I’m going to go ahead and make the assertion that there is, in fact, genetic memory born into us, I can see how the lack of an understanding of ownership, then the suffering because of it, led to a strange new sense of ownership (I know that’s not scientific and if this wasn’t a blog I’d have to defend that, but this is a blog post, so cope with it).
Stated plainly, I live my life by the old standard, I just stretch the meaning and add a bit of what is probably a defensive response to how I behave. I’ll explain the defensive part in a second. But first, let me explain what I mean by “old standard.” I have stuff. I mean technically I view it as “we” have stuff, as I don’t own anything I would deny my wife or my mother access to. But outside of that, the stuff that I “own” in a societal sense is mine. I don’t really feel like I “own” my pets (for legal purposes, sure, but I don’t think that a thing with a personality an a soul can really be “owned”). But the stuff inside my house, in my car, the car itself, the stuff in my office at work… that’s mine.
If I am using it, you shouldn’t expect access to it, unless you need it way more than me. Because in that moment, it’s entire purpose is to be a tool for my use. I have necessity for the item. If I am not using something, I generally don’t mind if someone else uses it/has it/whatever. This goes from the extreme ease of “oh, yeah, you can take that book,” wherein I don’t really expect to see it again to the much more tentative ease of “you can use my lawnmower, sure.”
But there’s another side to it. And to understand this side, you have to understand that the way I was treated by others when I was young (with the exception of my mother) mirrors on a micro-scale what happened to my ancestors on a grander scale. People used to mess with me. Well, not used to. People still, to some degree, mess with me. And I’ve watched people lose so many things. I’ve lost things. Because of that, I have what some would probably view a “greedy” sense of ownership over things that I use frequently. I view as pragmatic and practical, but I am sure it could be taken as selfish, particularly within Cherokee circles.
For example, my computers. Yes, I have more than one computer. But they are all the tools of my trade, as is my phone, my iPad, my game systems… those are things I use to do my work. I do NOT like people using these things. They are mine. I have them set up to work a certain way and I am familiar with how they respond. I hate things like when the mechanic adjusts the mirrors in my car during an oil change, because *I* set those mirrors where*I* need them when *I* use that car to get to the place where *I* work. I don’t like when people sit down at my computer to do something and move icons around on the desktop.
One of the weirdest quirks I have like this extends to a super silly thing but is highly, highly personal: I have game dice other people can play with and I have MY dice. If I do not invite someone to touch my personal dice and someone grabs on of them to roll, I get visibly upset (which if you know me is out of character– I am the most easy-going person when I’m in gaming mode). That might just be a personality tick, but I think it’s actually the perfect storm of understanding how dice work (random nature but not purely 100% random as operation also factors in), believing in luck, not appreciating people taking things from me when I was young (other kids used to steal my stuff), and a sense of respect as it relates to the tools of ones craft.
This trait is also a way for people to figure out if, on the subconscious emotional level, I consider them part of my tribe. If I hand you something that you’ve never seen me hand to someone else to use, that’s an indicator of how I feel about you. If you ask to borrow something and I find a version of it that I’m not using, though, don’t take that personal. I might just think I need the item in my hand more than you do. It’s a judgment call in some cases, and I always err toward caution in non-emergencies. If you have an emergency and I don’t give you all I can to help you, I don’t like you.
I guess what I mean with this post is that yes, I do frequently talk about the communal and non-materialistic nature of Indigenous Americans vs. the commercial consumer culture of the Western World. And there are traces of it in my blood. But I’m also a protective person when it comes to the things I get materialistic about, and I’m probably more selfish with those things because I’m so aware of how oddly personal and greedy ownership is.
I don’t want to contribute to Noble myths. I’ll get just as frustrated if you grab my Dual Shock as anyone you’d meet. There’s another Dual Shock right there. The one with the orange grips is MINE. And so help me, if you roll my marbled green D20…