But It's NOT FAIR!

Big Tobacco should be thanking its lucky stars that my daughter was born 40 years later than she was.

As it was, they enjoyed a decades-long run of cancerfying the world, snickering in their sleeves knowing that their victims' dependence on their wares was more than enjoyment of smooth taste and some effective marketing campaigns.

But if The Girl has been on the payroll? Man, there'd be a picture of her next to the word "whistleblower" in Webster's and The Insider would have been made 25 years earlier.

Yes, she's quite the relayer of information that one. Desperately important and crucial updates on the whereabouts/activities/misdemeanours/unshared privileges of her brother are thick and fast these days.

Sigh.

I try to counter the "The Boy's elbows are on the table!!" and "How come The Boy gets to watch another five minutes of TV while I have to shower?!" with mildness and (although I know it's futile) rationality. "Don't forget that you got an extra few minutes of TV while he was in the shower." Or "well, how about if I just pretend I don't notice that you said that with your mouth full and we'll call it even?" But that usually doesn't work.

Sometimes I try a trick I learned from a friend - "why are you telling me this?" If the answer isn't "he's bleeding" or "the rug is on fire," then I usually try to redirect her to some other, non-brother-related activity.

But usually, I end up having to resort to ol' faithful - "Life's just not fair."

As much as I hate hearing it, I have a lot of sympathy for what lies beneath "it's not fair that he gets [fill in the blank]!" It only takes a few minutes of watching HGTV and I'm grumbling about how unfair it is that I don't make a zillion dollars a year with which to remodel. I look with envy at people who seem to get all the breaks and I think about how I got the short end of the stick.

But when I catch myself saying it, I almost immediately remember that no, I don't actually want life to be fair. Or, another way to say it, I don't think I would be very pleased with my lot if all of the misery in the world were equally divided. Heck, I don't think I'd be pleased if I got an equal share of wealth - I have a distinct feeling that I'm squatting on a fair deal more than 1/six billionth of what's out there to be had.

There's even more understanding behind the complaints that "it's not fair that he doesn't have to clean up" or "it's not fair that you never get mad at him for doing that but you always get mad at me." And it's not only because I know that I can't possibly be as consistent a parent as I want to be.

What I totally get is that underlying frustration and outrage at the injustices of life. This sense that the guilty go unpunished. That the righteous get the shaft. Again, and again, and again. And, worse, that no one notices.

Or worse - that Someone notices. And doesn't care.

To me, that gut reaction of "it's not fair!" has always been proof of Heaven. If this was it, if our worldly lot was the sum total of existence, then where would this sensitivity to injustice come from? Why would we feel it so keenly when things were falling apart? How would we know that this wasn't how things were supposed to be? Why wouldn't we just accept it?

No, this yearning we feel for someplace, some time, someone better is from our hearts, which know more than what we are able to see, and insist to us that despite all evidence to the contrary, there must be somewhere where life is fair and just and right.

So while I know the tattling often springs from jealousy and selfishness, I also know that it has its root in something much deeper and more profound. She is discovering - as we all do at some point - that this world is pretty terrible at when it comes to dividing up that last piece of cake evenly. And I hope that she keeps this sensitivity to injustice and strives to do what she can to make things right in this world, even as she knows all will be made right in the next.

Until then, I'll keep reminding her that it's not her job to be a parent. And steer her towards a career as an auditor, I suppose.