Let’s Share

Let’s Share

By Mark Leitheiser

One of the first lessons many of us learned in school was to share. “What did you learn in school today?” Mom would ask and we would answer, “I learned to share.” Mom would smile at this answer because learning to share was, and still is, a critical life lesson. Whether it was our crayons, glue or a bologna sandwich, we were taught that sharing with others was our most important lesson.

Today, children still learn to share, but sadly, many of them share private information, video games and screen time. This is not all bad of course. As the world evolves, sharing can take many forms and children cannot be expected to learn the same way their parents did. Still, something seems to be missing here. We live in an angry, divided world that seems to be missing something of great value: the shared common experience.

For many of us, that shared common experience started while sitting in front of the television.

There were only three channels and two colors-black and white which limited our options and forced us into a shared experience. For my brother and I, that experience started early. Saturday morning often found us sitting in our pj’s staring at that weird dart board-like symbol on the screen waiting for a station in Fargo to begin broadcasting cartoons.

Years later, as the wonders of color tv reached the boondocks of northern Minnesota, our shared television experiences quietly cemented themselves in our psyche. Walk up to anyone of a certain age and say, “and I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren't for you darned kids!” and they will immediately cry out, “Scooby-Doo! God, I loved that show.” How can I be so sure? Because with only a few channels, we all shared in the adventures of Velma, Shaggy, Daphne and Fred as they watched Scooby solve crimes and devour Scooby snacks.

Those experiences didn’t end with an animated dog, of course. Situation comedies, or “sitcoms” were humorous shows with recurring cast members and laugh tracks that dug even deeper into our shared experiences. Don’t believe me? When you are at the lake this summer, try to get on your pontoon or fishing boat without someone singing out, “for a three-hour tour, a three-hour tourrrrrrr.” Who could forget the silly adventures of Gilligan, Ginger, Captain Jonas Grumby and Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island?  For that matter, who can forget the theme song?

While Scooby and Gilligan are forever etched into our collective mindset, no television experience can bind us together like the struggles of a family named Brady. If ever there were a shared experience growing up in the ‘70s, it was watching The Brady Bunch. Again, with just a few shows and even fewer channels, everyone, it seemed, shared in the daily trials of Maria, Greg, Peter, Jan, Bobby, Cindy and of course, Alice while they lived the lives we secretly wanted.

How far did the common experience of watching The Brady Bunch reach? At least as far as Chicago. A number of years ago, a friend of a friend had an extra ticket to three Cubs’ games. I was offered, and accepted the extra ticket and witnessed first-hand the power of the shared experience.

My revelation took place in a cavernous bathroom under Wrigley Field after the final game. Cubs’ fans drink a lot of beer so naturally, the bathroom was packed after the final out.

As we entered, we found ourselves at the back of the line which gave us a clear look at what happened next. One of the tipsy fellows up front sang out, “Here’s the story, of a lovely lady.” Seconds later, more drunk voices chimed in, “who was bringing up three very lovely girls. All of them had hair of gold . . .” Immediately, the entire boozy crowd, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, was swaying in unison singing, “The Brady Bunch, The Brady Bunch, that’s the waaaay we be-came the Bra-dy Bunnnnnnch!” Now that was a shared experience.

There were other shared experiences, of course. Schools, for example, were shared by all. Today, buses from many districts drive in to pluck our students for their districts but back in the day, you stayed put. That meant sharing the same smelly buses, the same grouchy teachers and the same lousy lunches.

Some shared experiences were better than others but for most of us, the end of gym class in junior high ranked near the bottom. In those days, it was mandated that each boy take a shower after phy-ed. Our shower room was an open cave where dozens of shower heads lined the walls.

There was no hiding here. Whatever the Lord gave you was on full display. As we grabbed our towels from Mr. Anderson, the early developers sauntered slowly to their lockers; the rest of us scurried like mice to get dressed in the dim basement light. If misery loves company, the shared experience of the jr. high showers had plenty of friends.

We all shared our movies, music and activities because, to be honest, we didn’t have a choice but maybe that wasn’t so bad. Today, we live in a society that emphasizes individual experiences. “Did you hear that new song?” “Sorry, it wasn’t on my playlist.” “Did you go to that movie Friday night?” “Nah, I’m gonna wait until I can stream it later at home.” “Did you watch that show on television last night?” “Seriously? I got two-hundred other shows to watch. I’ll get to that one later.” And so it goes.

Maybe if we had a few more shared experiences, we would share in others’ joy and sorrow. And maybe, just maybe, we could share our resources and empathy and understanding with those who need it most in this fractured world. And with unlimited knowledge at our fingertips, maybe we could remember our first and most important lesson: “I learned to share.”