We’ve all heard and said that statement countless times, and yet, I think deep inside we don’t really believe it. We really want the world to be fair.
The other day as I climbed up the boot pack on Mount Glory to go for a quick ski with a friend, we got into a conversation about the concept of fairness. He said something that I found thought provoking, namely that we all believe the bad guys will get their comeuppance at some point, but the reality is that very few of them ever do.
Why do we believe bad guys will ultimately lose? It doesn’t take much to find at least some of the roots of the conviction. I have a 14-year-old daughter who only recently left behind the world of princesses and Disney movies. In that world, the evil stepmother, witch, queen, monster (you fill in the name) always loses. Even in Studio Ghibli’s movies — which aren’t quite as saccharine as Disney’s — good prevails over evil. Literature, television and film are all full of stories that follow this pattern. To be honest, very few of us want to watch movies or read books where the good guys lose. It’s dissatisfying and disheartening, and if you are like me, you don’t escape into fiction to experience those emotions. We deal with them enough in day-to-day life.
I did not help my daughter steel herself against the unfairness of the world when she was little. I tried to shelter her from pain, tried to protect her from injustice and when things went wrong, tried to figure out how we could make it right. And for most of Avery’s childhood injuries, we found ways to avoid the ultimate truth that life is not fair in most of the cases where the question arose.
Why did I do this? Because of her eyes, her innocence, her sweet trusting nature, her belief in magic and fairies and goodness. I wanted her to hang on to these things as long as she could. I wanted her innocence to remain in tact as long as it could. Why? Because I wanted to protect her from pain. I wanted her to be safe. I wanted her to be happy.
But does this do her a disservice for the rest of her life? Will it leave her, like me, feeling completely unmoored and shocked at the ugliness and unfairness of much of the world? Will she, too, be amazed when truth does not prevail?
One of the things I believe NOLS does better than any other organization I have been a part of is to give kids responsibility for their actions. For many of my students, their NOLS course was the first time they had really faced the consequences of their behavior. If they left their stuff outside the tent over night and it rained, they had to wear wet clothes. If they burned their dinner, they had to eat it anyway.
These lessons were relatively painless and while the consequences were real, what made them safe was the fact that none of the choices we gave our students jeopardized their physical wellbeing. Nonetheless, the impact of learning to live with the consequences of their choices is powerful on kids. Especially for many upper middle class American kids who have been sheltered by their parents, their schools and their friendships.
Years ago I watched the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You.” In my mind, the best part of the movie took place in the first few minutes of the film when a series of scenes flash by with friends rationalizing to each other why someone’s boyfriend has left. The women came up with incredible excuses, all of which most of us recognize. No one ever said, “He’s just not into you.” Why, because they didn’t want to hurt their friend’s feelings.
I didn’t want anything to hurt Avery’s feelings. So I protected her every way I could. I would not call myself a helicopter mother. I’ve never done Avery’s homework for her, and I would not write an application and pass it off as hers, but in the areas where I have some control — how she interprets a friend’s behavior, how she handles not being picked for a team or a play — I often work hard to color her interpretation of the decision in a way that protects her feelings.
Now as I struggle to work through the utter unfairness of my friend’s job situation, it comes to me that I truly believe in the fiction of fairness despite my experiences to the contrary. Because of this belief, I am vulnerable to hurt even now as a middle-aged woman. Even now after countless disappointments when the world did not live up to my expectations. When good did not win. That’s an interesting bit of self awareness for me. I’ve set myself up for disappointment and hurt because of my deep-rooted conviction —idealistic and naïve — that things should always be fair.
So as I look at Avery, I wonder if I should step back and allow her to experience unfairness more. Maybe I shouldn’t try to intervene or excuse the cruelty of a friend. Maybe I should worry less about her experiencing disappointment. Maybe if I’d act differently, she’d be better able to navigate the world’s injustices as she grows older.
Avery is actually quite wise. I think having lost a father and being raised by a loving community has made her aware of the pain of loss but also open to the power of love. She trusts the world and people, but unlike me doesn’t seem to expect everything to be perfect. I hope that allows her to better able to withstand disappointment, anger and despair when things fall apart.