As a child, I always felt I was being treated incredibly unfairly. It felt as though, as the eldest brother, I was to blame for everything. My little brother would just cry – and I'd be the one to get told off. For that reason alone, I've always been sensitive about treating my own children equally. But the realisation that there might be a difference between «fair» and «equal» only dawned on me after our little experiment.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. Once again, my two sons had managed to fall out so badly whilst playing that it had come to blows within five minutes. So I couldn't continue removing the stalk from the kohlrabi; I took a deep breath and decided to uphold the rule of law. My younger son came running towards me down the hall , crying.
I hadn't been there, so I reassured everyone and asked them to go into separate rooms for a moment. Perhaps it was a sense of helplessness; I have no idea. But suddenly a thought struck me: my mother, their grandmother, had been a judge. I'd spent many afternoons in the courtroom. My immediate thought was: let's give this a go. I'd experienced these conflicts time and again, but hadn't been able to resolve them permanently.
So I asked them both into the living room, where I had set out two chairs, whilst I sat down on the sofa. «Right,» I said. «What happened?»
The Märklin model railway as the catalyst
My youngest, sitting on the left, began to speak , and explained through his tears that he had – in essence – done absolutely nothing; whereupon his brother had headbutted him. As a result, and in response to this underhand attack, he had had to defend himself to avert further danger to his life and limb.
«I see,» I said, and made a note. I wanted to know whether this incident might have been rooted in something that had happened earlier. Perhaps something had happened beforehand – a trigger he'd like to talk about. «Yes,» said my youngest, wringing his hands in his chair. So, in his view, the argument had only happened because the question of who the train belonged to was up in the air. «Which train?» I asked.
I warned him that he had to calm down, otherwise I would be forced to impose a fine, to be paid in four daily instalments of two euros each, taken from his pocket money.
«The Märklin train set,» said my eldest son, which is why I immediately reminded him that it wasn't his turn yet. I was still waiting for the witness—who might well be the injured party in this case—to speak. I still knew the vocabulary because, when I was little, my mother had always spoken her judgements into a dictaphone next to my bedroom. I loved the words and phrases, interrupted only by the stop button.
«What is a witness?» my youngest asked. I told him that a witness is someone who has seen something and can help shed light on the matter.
«He just wants attention!»
«Ah,» said my son, looking at me innocently, which sparked a brief commotion as my eldest son accused him of lying, both in general and in this particular instance. «He always looks so sweet, Dad, and then he wants you to take his side!» shouted my eldest, now practically on the verge of tears himself. «He just wants attention!»
I gave him a stern talking-to and said calmly that I took note of that and that I was an older brother myself. My younger brother – his uncle – had once smashed a badminton racket over my head and then gone to fetch his mother, my wife, to turn the story on its head. So I knew exactly what he was talking about, I said.
He calmed down, but he had to hold his soft toy dog for a moment because, as I understood, it was all a bit much.
I asked if I might continue, and when this was acknowledged with a nod from both sides, I asked the witness, my youngest son, who – in his opinion – owned the Märklin ICE in question.
«Me,» he said.
«No, me!» shouted my eldest son, and he was almost impossible to keep in the square. I warned him that he had to calm down, otherwise I would be forced to impose a fine, to be paid in four daily instalments of two euros each, taken from his pocket money. And next week was the fair.
A satisfied grin
«Right, him,» said my youngest – and I noticed the satisfied grin on his face.
«I see,» I said. «So your brother gets to decide whether you can play with it?»
«No,» he said.
«Yes, I am!» shouted my eldest – and then: «Dad!»
«He said before,» my youngest said, «that I could ride it.» Then, out of the blue, he was hit. He looked as innocent as a lamb.
«But not on the floor,» cried my son, bursting into tears. «The carpet's fluff will ruin my train!»
Carpet fluff as evidence
I asked the witness to bring me Exhibit A: the train in question. I inspected the train and did indeed find fine, thin hairs between the wheels. My youngest vehemently denied this, remarking that it could be any sort of fluff. Even from the dogs that visited us recently!
I pulled one out and showed it to them both; they were clearly fluff from our carpet. My eldest took a deep breath.
You can't treat your children all the same, because children are different, and anything else would just end up in everyone being treated the same.
I listened to his account, which went something like this: his brother had been playing with the train without permission. He had then pointed out to him that the train belonged to him and that he was allowed to play with it, but only if he promised not to drive it across the carpet. A promise that turned out to be broken as soon as it was made.
He then reportedly tried forcefully to wrest control of the train, which led to some minor, but largely insignificant, scuffles; however, these did not in any way result in a blow or a shove.
The father's sudden realisation
In fact, the younger brother had then, in frustration, slammed the train down on the floor – my youngest, sitting in his chair, is conspicuously counting his fingers as he does so – which is why he pushed him back – just a little – which the younger one apparently took as an opportunity to go and tell on him to me.
«He is therefore not aware of any wrongdoing,» said my eldest son, «and asks the court to acquit him. He is unable to make any further statements on the matter.»
«Very well,» I said. I would now retire to consult briefly with the bench (secretly, at that moment, I wished there were lay assessors ); after that, I would deliver the verdict. They were allowed to play for the time being, but only in moderation. I stood up and asked them to rise as well; this was a jury court, not a puppet show.
I sat down on the bed and closed the door behind me. And suddenly it all became crystal clear to me. That you can't treat children the same because they're all different, and anything else would just end up being a one-size-fits-all approach. That children need clear rules, but also some leeway.
«You're free to appeal,» I called after my eldest. But they'd both already gone.
That my parents never treated me unfairly, but simply had to take a different approach when it came to my individual mistakes, needs and expectations. That justice cannot undo the wrongdoing, but can, at best, restore a sense of fairness. That, ideally, reconciliation is ultimately possible.
The verdict
When I came back, they were both already sitting in their chairs. I told them that I held the youngest one responsible for dragging the train across the carpet of his own accord and contrary to what had been agreed beforehand. That, after a brief argument, when he saw no other way to get his way, he had burst into tears in order to make it seem as though I had headbutted him.
It would be one person's word against another's, but based on the circumstantial evidence – such as the hair found on the train and the fact that the crying was very brief, making a serious injury impossible – I would conclude that the youngest is to blame.
I hereby order him to fully repair the train, along with compensation, a ride or some chips at the fair. He is also to bear the costs of the proceedings, though I shall waive these due to his lack of sufficient pocket money. An application for legal aid will follow.
Does he accept this verdict?
The youngest nodded.
«What? Why?» I asked.
«Well,» he replied. «Because it was me. That's exactly how it happened. And I don't want to lie. I'd like to carry on playing with my brother now.»
Bring Grandma out of retirement
My eldest nodded excitedly too. «Come on, let's go and get the other trains, then we'll play rollercoaster.»
«Fine,» I said. «You're free to appeal,» I called after my eldest. «But only this afternoon – after that, I'm done with it!» But by then they'd both already gone.
«Dad,» said my youngest, poking his head into the room again. «Can we play court again next time we have a row?“
«Yes,» I said. «But it would be better if you didn't argue in the first place. Otherwise, we'll have to bring Grandma out of retirement for the next court hearing!»
