Sasee Magazine

“Why did he get that? I didn’t get one,” I said countless times throughout my childhood. “That’s not fair.”

“Life will not always be fair,” my mother would say in her oh-so-patient voice.

I hated when she said that. As a child, I wanted things to be fair. All the time. Even when it didn’t make any sense.

If my older brother Mike got a Star Wars action figure, I wanted one too, even though I didn’t even like Star Wars. He got one, so I wanted one.

When I was in middle school, I needed a new dress to attend my first formal dance. I practically insisted that my mother purchase a new outfit for Mike as well, despite the fact that he wasn’t planning to attend the dance.

It made no sense, but after all, fair is fair.

Now that I’m a mother, I’ve learned to play the Fair card almost as well as my mom did. I find myself using her old adage, “Life will not always be fair.”

And my own kids hate it just as much as I did.

But the truth of the matter is that life isn’t fair most of the time, and if we pretend that it is, we are doing our children a great disservice.

My four kids are very different people, and they have vastly different needs. Treating them all the same – or fairly, in their minds – wouldn’t give any of them what they really need.

My oldest son is 12, and like most boys his age, he can eat his weight in pizza. In a single sitting. He loves food, and one of the most loving things I can do for him is to fix his favorite meal. He knows I really love him when I make Cheesy Chicken for dinner.

My second son is nine, and he loves to read out loud to me. He feels so important when I sit and listen to him read a Goosebumps book. Plus, he’s a toucher. If I rub his back while he reads, it’s like I’ve connected a string straight from my heart to his.

My daughter is eight, and she loves to brush my hair and paint my finger nails. We play beauty shop constantly. She always asks my husband if he likes my new hair-do. When he says he does, she nods proudly and says, “Mom let me fix it for her.” And that proves I love her.

And my baby is just five years old. She goes to kindergarten, and she loves when I volunteer in her classroom. When I come in to help her teacher, her friends whisper, “Julia, your mom is here.” And that little face just lights up. “Mommy came to my school today,” she tells her older siblings. And to her, that means love.

My kids are so different, and what communicates love to one means very little to another. If I made the girls’ favorite meal, they would smile and eat it, just like they do everything I fix. They’d be happy, but they wouldn’t feel truly loved by the gesture.

And if I showed up at my 12-year-old’s school, all ready to help out, he would just melt into the floor. He has no interest in nail polish or hair products either.

I can’t treat each of my kids exactly the same. Even though they say that’s what they want, it wouldn’t make any of them happy.

So, at our house, we’ve adapted the meaning of the word “fair.” Fair isn’t everyone getting the same thing. At our house, fair means everyone getting what they need most. And that, of course, is love, communicated to each child in their own special way.

It’s not truly “fair,” but it’s what works for us. The kids understand that they won’t always receive the same type and amount of attention, but I’ll always try to meet their needs. They do understand, but every once in a while, I still hear the words, “But that’s not fair!”

And then, I have to remind the kids about my brother and me when we were little. I explain how “fair” doesn’t always mean “the same.” I explain that I love them all the same – with my whole heart and more than they can even imagine – but I won’t always show it to them in the same way. I tell them that everyone will get what they need, but it probably won’t be exactly the same.

“After all,” I say, “what would Uncle Mike have done with a pink prom dress anyway?”