Fair?

Have you ever been so mad you wanted to spit?  Lately, I seem to be trapped in spit-city.  I have my government officials - all the way from president to governor to, sometimes, my co-workers - telling me I'm not doing my job correctly.  My husband and kids often don't act in ways that I think are fair to me.  But, I can handle that.  I can be frustrated, even spitting mad, and still move on.  What I can't get past is one of my kids being treated unfairly.

My son was treated to the ultimate "unfair" example last night, and all I could do was sit in the stands and yell, "No fair!"  Picture this.  It's the conference season-ending competition.  Your child has worked all season and steadily improved.  He's not the best, but he's darn close and he's peaking at just the right time in his season.  It's the perfect spring night. You can wear flip flops. You don't need a coat.  You've already watched your son clear 6' in the high jump.  It a good night.  Now it is time for the 2nd heat of the 110 high hurdles.  Your son is seeded 7th out of 16.  The top 9 would make the finals.  The race begins.  He's a little slow, but quickly hits his stride.  Your heart races with his long legs as they smoothly glide up and over again and again.  He is gaining.  Coming into the 9th set of hurdles, he is 3rd in a very fast heat.  Suddenly, a hurdle FLIES from the lane to his right into his lane, sideways.  Reade literally stops for a second as he tries to figure out how to continue moving forward.  And there it is.  Not fair.  In that split second, the runner who smacked the hurdle pulls ahead of Reade and qualifies for the finals.  Reade...doesn't.

Now it would seem like there should be a rule for something like this.  Guess what - track, like life, often isn't fair. There is a rule about a runner impeding another runner's progress but nothing about a hurdle.  Is that fair?  Nope.  Can I do anything about it?  Nope again.  Am I happy.  Absolutely not.

All of this has been on my mind all day.  Fair.  It's so often not a part of our lives.  I don't like it.

But, guess what?  Next Thursday, that same boy will be racing again at sectionals.  I will try not to spit on him.  I will remember that I'm an adult and this is not my son's entire life.  I will force myself to have perspective. I will hope for a race that is fair.  Maybe I'll get lucky.