Oh I recognised the expression on oldest son’s face this morning as he slammed the door on his way to school. It’s a carbon copy of the one I used to wear when I thought my little brother was getting away with skiving a day off school for no real reason.
Today youngest son was just a little off colour, complaining of a sore throat and slow to eat his breakfast. After a spoonful of Calpol and a day at home with me he is as bouncy as Tigger!
When I was a child I hated deciding if I was ill enough to stay at home. I was probably frightened of missing something at school.
Now I have come to realise that some days need to be taken slowly, residual grief still swirls in the ether and if I sometimes need time to regroup why shouldn’t the boys be afforded the same luxury?
That doesn’t stop oldest son from pulling a face, that well worn phrase “it’s not fair” clearly etched on it.
So what isn’t fair?
It’s not fair I was widowed at 42.
It’s not fair my boys no longer have a dad to guide them as they grow up.
It’s not fair I have more than one spare bedroom in my house and some people have no bed to sleep in.
It’s not fair it’s been raining here today and there are areas in the world where there is drought.
It’s not fair I have food in the fridge, freezer and pantry when others are starving.
It’s not fair I can freely attend church on a Sunday when others are persecuted for their faith.
I can stamp my feet and shout all I like - it’s just not fair!
“Neither is a circus.” My mum would reply. I now know why she had such a stock catchphrase to throw back at us. Some discussions are not worth entering into.
And who said life is fair anyway?