8. Not Fair

I promised to write about what it is like to live near our grandchildren. Let’s begin with the youngest:

1-½ year old Jonah Elliot sits erect in his high chair, right arm extended with his index finger pointing up in the air in the direction of Marcia (whose grandmother name is “Nemo”). 

“Nemo. Cacker,” says Jonah. 

Marcia had just dispensed two crackers, one to each of the twins — Irene and Vivian, Jonah’s big sisters. 

Marcia points to an identical uneaten cracker already on Jonah’s plate. “There. See. I already gave you a cracker,” says Marcia. “Now everyone has a cracker.”

Jonah is not satisfied. His arm tightens and his protruding index finger points higher into the air. “Nemo. Cacker,” he barks.

It occurs to me that Jonah’s issue is not about crackers. Jonah’s issue is about justice —something that is evidently not happening. “Nemo. Cacker,” he says again.

There are many theories of justice. Plato, Kant, and Rawls’ writings come to mind. Jonah’s philosophy focuses on what is called distributive justice — is he receiving what others are getting? Right at this moment?

Marcia reaches into the carton to remove a cracker for Jonah. But the twins, who can count, point out almost in unison that if Nemo gives Jonah another cracker he will have two while each of them will only have one. To Vivian and Irene, that raises an issue of equity.

The twins have a point. Jonah is in the 99th percentile for weight and height. He is enormous, growing out of clothing made for children twice his age. The twins are only in the 85th & 90th percentile for weight. Is it equitable to give Jonah another cracker when his sisters (although not exactly wasting away) could make better use of the calories?

Jonah considers the matter for a moment, but since he can’t count the twins’ appeal for equity proves unpersuasive. “Nemo. Cacker,” he insists.

Marcia defuses the situation by handing Jonah a green toy truck — an object he immediately recognizes as something his older sisters did not receive, and which the twins recognize as something other than a cracker. Marcia’s theory of justice is fundamentally utilitarian: The greatest happiness for the greatest number, which on a practical level means the least whining — keeping the household noise level below 90 decibels.

“How long will this go on?” asks our daughter Clara. “I don’t think it is fair that I have to raise three children during a pandemic.” Marcia offers Clara a blue toy truck. “It goes on for a long time,” she says.

Clara’s house is a 6 minute drive from the home we are renting for the winter. Marcia and I try to visit at least twice a week. Maintaining boundaries is important, and the grandchildren tire us out. But they are so much fun, and their blue eyes light up when we arrive.

Helen lives in Palo Alto, about a 45 minute drive away. Her son, Miles, just turned 3 a week ago. He is an only child, which makes the situation in Helen’s apartment very different from that of her sister. Miles receives a great deal of attention and his vocabulary is on par with a graduate student, although his interests are those of a three year old: “What are your dinosaurs doing, Miles?” asks Helen. “They are going to preschool, Mom. They are eating lunch.” “What are they eating for lunch, Miles?” inquires Helen. “I don’t know, Mom. Are stegosauruses herbivores?” I’m not kidding. That is the way he talks.

Miles enunciates precisely. He can assume a Minnesota accent on command.  “You betcha,” he beams. One of the teachers at his Spanish immersion school tells us he can speak with different accents in Spanish too, imitating a Columbian, Mexican, or Spaniard. Perhaps he will be a comedian when he grows up.

But he isn’t grown up yet.  A verbatim transcript of a recent bedtime exchange: “I don’t want to go to sleep, Mom,” Miles protests. “Miles, it is bedtime.”  “Mom, I don't want to sleep. I am frustrated. Would it be OK if I scream?”  “Yes, Miles, you may scream once.”  “I don’t want to scream just once, Mom.  May I have a bonus scream?  I want to scream twice.” 

After Miles is put to bed, Marcia and I talk to Helen for a half hour and then it is time to drive back to our rental house in the East Bay. “You stay later with Clara,” Helen notes.  “But we don’t have to drive 45 minutes to get home when we leave Clara’s,” I remind her. “It was your choice to rent in the East Bay instead of Palo Alto,” Helen continues. “I just want this to be fair.”

May I have a bonus scream?

Paul