One of the interesting things about being Benjamin's mom is observing his perspective on ownership. As a two year old he never went through a phase of claiming "mine!". In fact, he was barely talking at all, much less staking a claim. As an adult, he has his favorite chair, and preferred dishes. But it is not tied to such petty details as whether he bought them. 

One time his brother noticed that Ben had consumed a boat load of data, and pointed it out to him. To correct this, Benjamin reached for his wallet and stuffed a fistful of five dollar bills in my hands. Those bills that he is pleased to have handed to him after his cleaning job, and yet their market value is mostly lost on him. 

In the absence of a strong sense of ownership, there is room for generosity. In both directions. Our family walked up the road to the local parade this week, and Ben was excited enough to get their first. When I arrived, he was sitting comfortably in a red folding chair. We own no such chairs. 

"Ben, that looks like a nice place to sit. I wonder where you got it?" I asked casually. It seemed reasonable to Ben that since no one was currently using it, he was welcome to indulge. 

I recall a time when I took him to a bake sale when he was younger. I turned around to notice him enjoying a brownie. Rather than spoil his appetite with a discourse on money, I asked where he had found it and paid the baker. 

Ben is altruistic as well. It is not one sided. When he accompanies me to Trader Joe's he inevitably straightens the display, because that makes sense to him, and then puts a container of cookies in the cart. 

"For your sewing students," he tells me. 

For those of us with bank accounts and car payments, proprietorship holds sway.  Yet there are other times when the mirage of it all fades. I own my body, as teachers these days assure their students in health class. But why is that? I did absolutely nothing to create it, unless you count eating lunch. For years I responded to the question "How many children do you have?" with an answer that no longer fits. They are not mine. They were lent to me, for a while and now they chart their own courses. The copyright office has records of our music, as if we are more deserving of singing them than other musicians. But I am less convinced of that than I once was. 

"The more closely we are united to the Lord, the more clearly we seem to have our own identity, and yet the more obvious it is to us that we belong to the Lord." Divine Providence 42, Emanuel Swedenborg