Second To None

I’ve got two boys, aged six and eight, and they’re as hyperactive and prone to fighting as only boys their age can be.

There’s a playground about a block from our house, and I usually take them out to play for an hour before the sun sets. This playground has a small jungle gym, and both boys, being boys, like to race each other to the top (and quarrel nonstop about who won).

It’s a three-sided pyramid, with a capstone on top. 

Recently, I’ve come up with a creative solution. I’ve told my sons that second place is the winner. This means that both brothers would scale up the jungle gym, right up to the second highest rung, and glare at each other, daring the other to touch the capstone first.

And given how stubborn both the little brats are, they can (and have) spend the whole hour just doing nothing but waiting for the other to make a move.

It also means that I get a peaceful hour to sit down on the bench under the tree in the shade with a good book. Which is very therapeutic and some much needed relax time for me.

So, we go to the park together, and as usual, the boys beeline the jungle gym, trading insults and racing to the top as usual. 

We’re not the only people in the park, though. There’s a teenaged/young adult couple there. The girlfriend is doing TikTok dances in the grassy area, while the bored boyfriend is sitting at the top of the pyramid, on his phone.

So, the two boys climb up to the top from the other two sides and begin their usual bickering about who’s the winner. The boyfriend is clearly amused by my children’s bickering and looks up at them.

Boyfriend: *Turns around and touches the capstone.* “I’m the winner. I was here first.”

Both Of My Boys: “SECOND PLACE WINS!”

Boyfriend: “I agree.” *Pause.* “So who wants to be third place?”

Both my boys immediately lunge for the capstone and then get into a brawl over who touched it first. They tumble down the jungle gym, yelling all the way, then decide to continue their fight in the sandpit.

There went my hour of peace and quiet. Now instead of getting to read in peace, I have to keep my boys from killing each other in the sandpit, push them on the swings and merry-go-round, watch them as they climb up the slide and other play fixtures… 

I look up and give that young man the most baleful glare I can muster. I’d barely had time to sit down and get my book out. And he has the insolence to smirk and WINK at me. 

In that moment, somehow, I know, deep in my bones, that he’s got brothers as well, and probably a mother who employed similar tricks as me. There’s no mistaking that look on his face. 

Some people really just enjoy the suffering of others.