Several days after the silver bullet was ours, Barry came to find me, and seeing my son's furrowed brow, I asked him what was up.
I'm really upset about the Accord.
That came as a surprise to me, so I replied, But Barry, I thought you thought the Accord was really cool.
I do think it's cool. What's not cool is that I had to drive Big Red and The Beast for almost two years. And now that we finally get a new car, I'm leaving for college, where I won't have a car, at all, while Steven drives the Accord without sharing it for the next two years! It's not fair, Mom. It's just not fair! He should have to drive a clunker, too.
After listening to Barry's reasoning and acknowledging the fact that I understood his angst, I thought—thank goodness, I'd given my son's think tank lots of practice considering the law of averages when he was a child, because once he'd unloaded and passed the talking stick to me, here is what I said:
Barry, at different times and for countless reasons, we all feel upset, because life's not fair. We all think this should happen or that should not happen, but stuff that should not happen happens, all the time. So you'll get no argument from me about your frustration. Life is not fair. Life is life, meaning that, from time to time, we all take turns experiencing conflict and strife. The fact that life's not fair can be a bitter pill for everyone to swallow—unless we remind ourselves to consider the law of averages.
As I'd had reason to discuss the law of averages with my sons on many occasions, I sensed that Barry was about to absorb what I'd felt the need to say (concerning the needling effect of jealousy that remains, to varying degrees, an inherent part of sibling rivalry) with an open mind.
As soon as I learned about the negative effects of sibling rivalry, I began to encourage my sons to adopt the law of averages as their own for this reason: I knew that sibling rivalry, left on it's own to fester, subconciously, would undermind the friendship that I'd hoped to foster amongst my sons. And as knowledge is power, I empowered my sons by encouraging them to understand that as much as parents work to equalize their children's good fortune, life would intercede, creating different paths for each one. Each time one of my sons approached me with inklings of siblling rivalry creating inner conflict, my initial response placed logic on a back burner in favor of acknowledging whatever emotion had disturbed that loved one's sense of inner peace:
I know it rankles that Steven seems ultra lucky, right now.
At this response, Barry's head shakes up and down.
Having acknowledged my eldest son's feelings, I continue with: Won't it be sad if you walk around feeling angry about what's passed instead of feeling joyful about the fact that presently, you'll be driving the Accord until you leave for college. I mean, won't it be a waste to lug around an attitude that diminishes your own sense of joy? And in addition to wasting joy, won't you also waste time and energy, anguishing about a fact of life that no one can change?
As I watch Barry's think tank considering and seemingly coupling up with my train of thought, I go on ... rather than grappling with inner conflict, common sense suggests that we turn the page and figure out how to get you to recapture your sense joy by concentrating your focus on every positive aspect of life that offers your spirit sound reason to soar. And the best way to turn to that page is by reviewing the law of averages—again.
At this, I watch Barry's furrowed brows relax, suggesting a light bulb of recognition brightening inside my son's agile, young mind. Upon spying this positively refocused change, my spirit smiles to see Barry's attitude open and expand at least enough to consider my line of reasoning, which was brainstorming, aloud, in hopes that we'd both embrace deeper truth, founded in common sense, so since *my son feels understood, at least enough to hear me out, the voice of reason feels free to continue with ...
Barry, do you remember when we invited one of your best friends to go to the circus with us, and his mom said no?
Yes, and I didn't get it.
You mean you didn't get why she'd said no?
Yes.
You didn't get it, because you didn't understand her reasoning, right?
Right. I mean there was no reason why my friend couldn't go, and both of us were so disappointed.
Well, first of all, I remember your disappointment, and secondly, I'd like to say that from my point of view, I didn't agree with her reasoning, either.
Well, why did she say, no?
She said no because she was trying to make life fair for both of her kids. She said no because her daughter would be mad that she couldn't go, too. If one child was invited to experience joy while the other would stay home feeling jealous their mother decided that neither could go. That didn't make sense to me, because at some point, her daughter's friend would ask her to go to something exciting, too. And if the mom said okay, her son, who was not allowed to go to the circus with us would declare war.
So Mom, why didn't she teach her kids the law of averages like you taught it to us?
Well Barry, it's not easy for a parent to be on top of eveything. There are so many lessons to learn and then teach about life; no parent gets every decision right. It's highly possible that your friend's mom did a better job of teaching certain lessons to her kids that have not yet occurred to me. Bottom line, instead of teaching her kids to understand the law of averages, she was just trying to be fair.
Well, I don't think she was fair to my friend or to me.
And I agree. From our point of view, she missed the boat.
So, Mom, here's what I don't get, now—what does the law of averages have to do with my leaving a brand new car with Steven for two years?
Well, right now, it seems like Steven is luckier than you are. At another time in life, something will come up where you're the luckier of the two. For example, right now, I try, as often as possible, to offer the same things in life to you both. Later in life, one of you may earn more than the other, but perhaps whomever is earning less may enjoy better health. Life's a crap shoot, Barry. We win some and lose some. In the end, if our attitudes are positive and our spirits remain good natured and our emotions are well balanced, life has a way of evening out the good with the bad. So if I were you, I'd get happy, really fast, so you don't lose a second of enjoying the Accord until you leave for college.
So, said Barry, pensively, if I use the law of averages to feel better then I might say that at sixteen I was luckier than Steven, because I didn't have to share the car with an older brother, right?
Yes! That's exactly what I mean.
I think it's a problem when parents try to make everything even-steven (Ha!), for this reason: If we work too hard to create a sense of equal fairness between siblings and if siblings aren't taught to take the law of averages into consideration when life smiles more on one than the other, then jealousy can deepen until the bonds of friendship are twisted into a bed of thorns. In order to share a balanced friendship, we are happy for each other's good fortune. Though it's natural to wish that another person's good fortune may be our own, as well, it's unhealthy for any person to envy friends. With positive focus intact, you can dig deep enough to see something of value in your life that your friend wishes for, as well.
Though considering the law of averages made sense to Barry's teen-aged brain, and though he did enjoy driving the Accord until he left for college, I'm sure it took a while before the unfairness he'd felt evaporated into the past. For the most part, coaches inspire players to learn from this game in hopes of improving experiencially down the road.
And down the road, several years later, I received a call from Barry, which delighted my funny bone: Hi Mom. I'm calling to tell you that sibling rivalry and that law of averages thing you're always talking about are alive and well ...
And if you'd like to see how that conversation went, please stay tuned :)
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