On Fairness

It's hard to be human.

We have entered the “It’s not fair!” stage of parenthood. 

At an unreal speed, my four-year-old will declare “It’s not fair!” on a hot day if I do not drive her to the nearest ice cream parlor and buy her a scoop of Cookie Party topped with rainbow sprinkles. She whines, “But my body is telling me it needs to cool down right now!” I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of her request while lovingly and firmly maintaining the boundary: “We aren’t getting ice cream today. It’s okay for you to be upset about it.”

Alternatively, if my youngest is playing with one of her toys and my oldest arbitrarily decides that she wants to play with the same toy, and I do not permit her to take the toy away from her sister, I’m met with: “It’s not fair! I wanted the toy first!” I take a deep breath and respond: “Your sister had the toy first. We need to respect that. I can set a timer and when the timer goes off, you can ask your sister politely for a turn.”

One of my favorite “It’s not fairs!” of this past week: After receiving new winter jackets in the mail from my mom, my daughters excitedly donned their new cold weather gear, running around the house, screaming with excitement, and then eventually spilling out onto our front porch on an eighty-something degree day. My oldest proclaimed, “Mom! It’s not fair!” When I ask her, “What’s not fair?” She groans, “It’s not fair that it’s still summer! I want to wear my jacket and not be so hot!” Oof, that one hit. Me, too, girl, I thought. Then, I replied, “It sounds like you’re frustrated that it’s not the appropriate season to wear your jacket. I can understand why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling. I can’t wait for colder weather either! What should we do while we wait?”

What we did while we waited.

As a human being, I empathize with my daughter’s newfound discovery of unfairness, and I, too, can point to a few of life’s countless instances of unfairness:

It’s not fair that last Thursday, the Gaza Ministry of Health reported that the death toll in Gaza since Oct. 7, 2023 now stands at “more than 40,000 killed and 92,401 injured.” It’s not fair that there are also more children who have not been accounted for and more children who have become orphans after the merciless killing of their parents in a thankless war. It’s just not fair.

It’s not fair that our dear friend Hieu Pham died in a terrible car collision while in transit to Tulum, Mexico, on his first full day of vacation with his family on July 21, 2024. He left behind the love of his life, Meagan, and two beautiful children who are about the same ages as our own children: a son, 5, and a daughter, 2. It’s not fair that his wife lost her life partner, her soul mate, and best friend, and that his kids lost their father, their steadfast provider, and joyful playmate. It’s just not fair.

It’s not fair that nine years ago, we buried my fourteen-year-old brother in his middle school band performance attire: a black long sleeve button-up, a black tie, and black slacks. It’s not fair that I was in charge of contacting the Coastal Monument Company to design my little brother’s headstone. It’s not fair that one of my sisters and I had to pack up his room on Mother’s Day—Sunday, May 10, 2015—because my family could not bear to live in their home anymore. It’s not fair that my sister and I packed up a room that would never be a room again in any of my family’s future abodes. It’s not fair that March 6 and May 9 will forever be days that I loathe, days that I have trouble breathing, days that I cry a thousand mournful tears. It’s not fair that our deep love for our brother wasn’t enough to sway his decision to end his life. 

It’s not fair that my daughters will never know their Uncle Preston; they will only know pictures of him and stories of his personality and character. They will never know the depth of his dimples, his infectious laugh, his playful nature, or any of his beautiful, intrinsic qualities: his devotion to family, his respect for elders and servicepeople, his ease and ability to put others before himself, and his unwavering allyship for “outsiders” or members of marginalized groups. 

It’s not fair that my youngest sister, who was twelve-years-old when Preston’s light went out, has almost earned her undergraduate degree without a single visit from her little brother to just “check in and make sure she’s safe,” as he so dutifully did when he used to walk her to her classroom in elementary school. It’s not fair that my middle sister now manages a restaurant and bar and regularly sees Preston’s friends legally ordering alcohol and toasting to his name. It’s not fair that the second oldest in my family records her croons of soulful songs in memory of Preston, visibly heartbroken, posting the videos to his memorial page on Facebook. 

It’s not fair that at every family gathering for nearly the past decade, my mother inevitably and frantically scans the room, reporting and begging the gut-wrenching question, “Someone’s missing. Who’s missing?” My sisters and I look back at her, tears already filling their wells. As we go to say his name out loud, our throats catch, and the word cannot make its way out; instead, our answer is a crestfallen face, looking downward.

It’s just not fair.

***

I was sick with COVID two weeks ago and thus was relegated to rest in bed for several days. It was awful but also nice? Since becoming a mother, sleep has been an elusive necessity for parenthood survival these last four years. I relished the rest. The many hours of closed eyes and horizontal orientation was a welcomed interruption to my regularly-scheduled programming of carting kids from activity to activity, of creating meal after meal, and of curtailing argument after argument. 

So, how did I pass the time? By scrolling the Substack app, of course. 

Notable reads include

Tina Hedin

’s “My Broken Heart and the Murals of Montreal,”

Amanda B. Hinton

’s “Who tends the brokenhearted?”, and

Mary Roblyn

’s guest post (on

Tiffany Chu

’s Notes from The Town Hermit) titled “Sweater, Ties, and Saying Goodbye.”

With each attentive read of every moving piece, I felt the writer’s pain and surrendered to my own emotions, whispering out loud after each poignant truth-telling: “It’s just not fair.”

*** 

Like many millennial parents, my tendency is to scout the Internet for guidance on how to deal with numerous parenting hurdles. This past month, my Google search history tells the tale of my latest parenting woe: my daughter’s “It’s not fair!” protests. As I’ve learned the hard way, my own parents’ methods of handling small children’s emotions are ineffective—null. So, I walk the path of the unknown, seeking out scientifically-proven methods and/or research-backed practices in hopes of providing my children with a childhood better than my own.

Through my Google search, I came across Sarina Behar Natkin’s blog post, “It’s Not Fair!” (2013). According to Natkin, a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, as well as a Certified Gottman Educator and Certified Positive Discipline Trainer, when a child, or anyone, has an “It’s not fair” reaction to an event, they are actually experiencing “a feeling, usually fear or anger, associated with a threatened sense of safety.” So, when a parent is met with this situation, she encourages the parent to 1) show empathy and 2) avoid the urge to lecture. She doesn’t gloss over the fact that the child’s behavior will be trying and may elicit *feelings* from the parent. What is of utmost importance, as Natkin advises, is that the parent trusts their child to be “mad, sad, jealous, or any other emotion, and they will get through it.” Once the child’s emotions have abated, Natkin recommends inviting a calm conversation about fairness with one’s child. She asserts that the discussion will be a productive and impressionable one.

As I continued my Google search, I stumbled upon Dr. Will Joel Friedman’s article, “Insisting on Fairness and Justice is a Recipe For Conflict, Misery, and Suffering” (2012). Dr. Friedman is a seasoned clinician with experience working with adults, couples, families, adolescents, and older children since 1976. The information provided by Dr. Friedman was enlightening, albeit a bit harsh for my taste. Nevertheless, one line stood out to me: “Of course, life is not so much unfair, unjust or inequitable; life is simply life and knows nothing of these claims.” In other words, the concept of fairness is egotistical; it stems from our own minds or egos. 

With this academic information, I realized that my response of just sitting with my kid in her feelings, sitting with the feelings of others, sitting with myself in my own inner child’s feelings, is the most loving—the most motherly—action I can take, and I shouldn’t question myself about it.

Working through our feelings with patience, presence, and persistence is how our children learn more about themselves and also how we learn more about our own selves. By being an example to our children, they, in turn, gain more confidence, self-awareness, and emotional intelligence. 

They are better for it; we are better for it.

Empowerment starts with empathy. 

Presently, as I sit with my daughter’s emotions—her “It’s not fairs!”—and my own feelings of fear, despair, and anger over my list of the world’s “It’s Not Fairs,” I make room for empathy.

It’s hard to be human. 

I hold my daughters. I hold myself. I hold my beloveds. I hold you. 

We’re doing our best—despite all the pain and suffering.

I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of you, too.

Behold, the power of waiting. I grew this sunflower from seed!