How to play fair
Our five-year-old already thinks that life is unfair. Most recently because his little brother beat him at a game of 'Go Fish'. I watched from the sidelines as he cried, 'No fair!', flung himself down on the carpet and moped about never winning anything.
Later that same week, I asked him to brush his teeth before bedtime, as I always do. Once again, he yelled, 'No fair!' and trudged into the bathroom as if he was marching into a prison camp.
Parental instincts told me to sit down and talk to him about winning and losing, personal hygiene and responsibilities. So I did. But it hasn't stopped the new blame game: every time it doesn't go his way, he claims an unfair advantage.
Visions of John McEnroe's infamous tennis court tirades flashed before me. Thoughts of angry protesters in the streets blaming their government for various inequities came to mind. I even imagined my little protester hugging a defenceless tree some day. We all know life isn't always fair. You don't win every time even when you try your hardest. How do you explain that to a kid? Maybe you don't.
I was never led to believe that things would always go my way and given ample opportunities in sports, friendships and life's little competitions to learn the hard way. What mattered to my parents and friends, and eventually to me, was not whether I won or not, but what I did afterwards. If I exhibited poor sportsmanship I felt alienated from the team and was promptly grounded by my parents. If I acted like a jerk or talked back to my parents, I was forced to apologise face to face.
To borrow a phrase from my father, it isn't a matter of what's fair, it's about what is right. How you handle the aftermath is a sign of character.
My parents lectured me about many things. I heard them, secretly rolled my eyes in defiance, then learnt by doing. I wasn't propped up and defended. I was encouraged, but no excuses were made.
My heart-to-heart explanations about intangible subjects such as fairness aren't getting me anywhere with my son. After all, he's only five. He listens because he has to and I'll continue to talk because it makes sense to me. But he's going to actually learn these life lessons on his own. Meanwhile, I'll watch for the eye-rolling to begin.
There will be a 'Go Fish' re-match in the living room this afternoon between our five-year-old and his little brother. May the best fisherman lose gracefully.
