Right now, right in this moment, my children love each
other. I mean truly, deeply care about each other, and although they fight over
juice pouches and Angry Birds and the sweet spot on the couch and car
headphones, there is a genuine affection between them that trumps all of that.
In fact, as I’m writing, Molly is leaning over Suttie as he plays the iPad and
he’s just reached up and patted her gently on the head. Of course, she’s
followed that up by swatting his hand, but she only did it at half strength,
which, coming from Molly, is a real gesture of love.
Case in point, last Saturday was Suttie’s first fall t-ball
game and, t-ball being t-ball and four year olds being four year olds, the
parents and fans spent the entire game yelling instructions like, “Run to
first! No, not that way! The other way! Toward the coach! Oh My God!” or “Quit
digging at your bottom and watch the ball, son!”
Now, Suttie, he’s a cool kid, but he has got to be the
slowest runner in the history of t-ball. Something happens to him when he’s out
on that field that makes him think it’s okay to get half way to first and then robot
walk the rest of the way or practice his Gangnam Style dance moves along the path to second or throw his arms straight behind him in a failed attempt at aerodynamics
that only puts him awkwardly off balance. So his dad and I spend most of the games
shouting at him to “run fast” and “stop dancing” and “be normal.” Last
Saturday’s opening grudge-match was no different.
But as we yelled at him to run faster, Molly became
increasingly upset, and I could only imagine the direction of her thoughts: “What’s
he running from? Zombies? Ghosts? Ghost zombies? If he’s gone, then there won’t
be any half-eaten Poptarts lying around for me to swipe. Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!”
This process repeated every time Suttie had to run: parents
yelling, Molly looking worried and crying, Grandma taking Molly away from the
field, Molly trying to run away from Grandma. By the end of the game, she was
pretty traumatized, and that’s when I witnessed the sweetest exchange between
my son and daughter. Suttie had gone to meet the rest of his team under a tree
for post-game snacks (the main reason for playing) and Molly toddled up to him,
gave him a concerned, searching look, then wrapped her chubby arms around him
and just held on. And after a beat, he did the same.
In that moment, I felt immense pride, not because his team
won the game or because Suttie made an amazing
play by stopping a hard-hit line drive (although I am proud enough to mention
it here). I was proud because these two kids, my kids, were embodying
everything that we’re trying to teach them about family and sibling devotion.
And this would be an ideal point to end this blog post. But
I’ve never been accused of brevity, and it’s really not the end of the story
anyway. Yes, my children showed a
sincere love for one another on that baseball field, but they still fight and
show jealousy and get hurt feelings just like any other brother and sister
pair. But now I have something to cling to in those exasperating moments. When
they can’t stand to be in the same room with each other, when tattling reaches
an unbearable high, when they accuse us of being unfair and playing favorites,
when Molly has a crush on every one of Suttie’s friends and it aggravates him
(and his father) to the core, I can think back to that baseball field and know
that, foundationally, they love each other and won’t travel through this life
alone.
Of course, there’s no guarantee that they’ll stay close as
they age. I’ve seen it too often, siblings who once played innocently together
growing into relationships that are rife with animosity and resentment. I think
they’re safe from Cain and Abel’s fates, but I want more for them than holiday
dinners and birthday phone calls.
So, our task begins. Balancing an awareness and acceptance
that they will fight, they will even bemoan the other’s existence, while
reminding them of their lifelong bond and their joint obligation to pay for our
luxury nursing home. Because, if worse comes to worst, as their parents, we’re more
than happy to give them a shared enemy if it means that they face it together.
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