FORCED COMPASSION

My mother is a product of the Depression. She has a difficult time throwing away plastic bags, envelopes or other useful items. When I was younger, she sewed my underwear (yes in junior high--which is another story.) She reused elastics from older undies to give old sheets a new life. I have noticed zig-zag stitching on a shower curtain to make it last another year. Today, I found contact lenses which expired in 2007. Before you might think I find her methods amusing, which they sometimes are, I find her awe-inspiring. As a young child it felt like the big sins were murder and WASTE. I clearly understood the concept of limited resources. I was grateful for what I got. When we rarely went out, all the shakes and fries were shared. It was a big deal for me.
Jeans were patched, haircuts were "bowl cuts" by mom and money was carefully spent. My mom could bargain like a swap meet hero. That woman doesn't pay full-price for much of anything. She could get more out of a ten-dollar bill than the grocery guru or any other expert. While I found her methods of bringing home "furniture or carpet" when she found them on a morning run, to be a bit questionable; she had a healthy respect for resources. My mom was eco-friendly before it was cool--she was the poor man version of it. Truthfully, we make fun of a lot of those years and we may treat food with too much of a funky respect. However, I also understood that others could have it worse than I did.
Many years later, I have struggled to teach my children these same concepts of mindfulness. Our extended family went to a big Thanksgiving buffet together. While at this nice hotel, my children observed an older man digging through the trash. I heard them laughing as he dug through there in the cold. I was concerned for him and angry with my children. The ingrates I thought! I scolded them, but it didn't seem to really put any shame in them. My children live a comfortable life where they are expected to help a bit and be kind to each other. Yet, I have clearly not taught them well. Despite donating toys and giving food to homeless shelters they lack compassion. So, as we were driving home today, I saw a poster for a charity. That's it, I thought! I will make them help me bake cookies and then make them march around the neighborhood until they are all sold. Thereafter, we will donate the money! My husband said it doesn't work that way. Well, exactly how does it work? Can't you force compassion? This is when I almost wish life were more difficult for my kids. I sometimes wonder if I could manufacture hardship. Any ideas are helpful.