Reading something the other day triggered a core memory of something that happened when I was a year younger than Benjamin is now.
Two mothers brought their babies (both around two-years-old at the time) to our house and I took it upon myself to “babysit” them while the three mothers caught up in Korean in our living room.
I went to my toy box and dug out all my old toys that could be safe for them and brought them out for them to share. Since they are of the age of parallel play — though my 4yo self was still many years from knowing what such a term even meant — sharing was not in the offing. Instead, they both gravitated on what I felt was the most uninteresting toy amongst the trove: the ball.
Luckily, I had exactly two of these balls. Because they couldn’t share or toss it between them, I divided one to each. Unfortunately, they didn’t agree with my solution and proceeded to constantly crawl/walk over to the other side of the room to take the other’s ball and cry when their ball was taken.
No amount of combinations and separations short of Solomon was going to fix it. All the while, the moms were laughing at the scene playing in front of them of a frustrated four year-old trying to separate two balls amongst two two-year-olds in a way that didn’t cause one or the other to cry.
…
My experience of that event was so emotional at the time that is an indelible memory now, a half century later. It isn’t really until now that I can be above the Rashoman effect and see it as karmic retribution for being about the same two years junior to my brother.
Oh, the things I must have done to him!
