An Issue of Fairness

We all know that children can be mean. Some of the earliest words out of a child’s mouth, usually accompanied by a whiny, tearful voice, are “That’s mean!” or “That’s not fair!” Often, it is directed at someone, sometimes a parent and usually a sibling.

My brother George and I grew up in a very strict home. Our parents divorced when I was seven. George was 13, and we lived with Mom and Bill (our stepfather) for the next nine years during the school year.

There were a lot of rules that didn’t make any sense, at least to us. This created the perfect setting for a lot of ‘unfair’ stuff to happen.

In the early 60’s, Coke bottles were 6 ounces. This was before the world woke up and realized we needed a lot more choices in size and flavors. I am curious to know how we survived.

On the rare occasion when George and I were allowed to drink a Coke, we had to split it, six ounces, three ounces each. As a result, two things were of supreme importance: the measurement had to be 100% accurate, 50/50, and we had to drink it slowly, savoring every drop.

George, being the older brother, was in charge of pouring the sparkling beverage into two small glasses. The glasses had to be transparent to ensure the amounts were visibly accurate. I was the observer and judge. George was good at it and could hit the 50/50 mark straight out of the bottle. Occasionally, he would over-pour and have to equalize things by pouring from one glass to another.

On one occasion, with the process complete, Cokes in hand, and ready to enjoy, I had to go to the bathroom. George knew better than to touch mine while I was gone.

When I returned, my Coke was sitting on the table, and there sat George with a sad look on his face and the evidence that he drank his Coke while I was out of the room. There was an empty glass in his hand.

“Ron,” he pleaded, “please don’t torture me by making me watch you drink your Coke. Drink it real fast so I don’t have to suffer.”

It took some coaxing, but I finally gave in and drank my three ounces so fast that I felt the carbonation burning as it traveled down my gullet. I remember a brief pause before George stood up, cockily started humming a little ditty, and walked towards the fridge.

I was dismayed by what I saw. There in the refrigerator were three ounces of Coca-Cola in a similar glass.

George took it out, sat on the chair at the kitchen table, and slowly, methodically, and deviously took one sip after another, each followed with that refreshing “ahhhhhhh” the evidence of ultimate enjoyment.

What sinister person would think to do something so cruel and unfair to their little brother? Probably the same kind of person who, months later, got so angry threw a baseball bat at their older brother.

In Paul’s letter to the Christians in Ephesus, he reminds us that we are born children of wrath. The prophet Jeremiah spoke of how our hearts are deceitful above all things.

Ephesians 2:32: | Jeremiah 17:9

Photo by Paul Gaudriault on Unsplash