Weekend Journal, Part 2

Jonah had his first sleepover party on Saturday night. We kept it simple. Just four of his friends — Hyper, Bored, Squeaky, and Moose. They arrived at 6. We had pizza ready for them. Steve walked them over to Friendly’s for an ice-cream. There was a game of kickball in the street and the first Indiana Jones movie waiting for them.

I sat on the front porch and watched their kickball game. Steve was out on the street to mediate disputes.

Kickball has fairly simple rules. There are two teams. You kick the
ball and try to run the bases. If your kick goes to the left or the
right of the bases, it’s a foul ball. Three outs and the teams switch.
Despite these simple rules, the boys were in constant discussion over
the nuances of the rules.

"Moose, you’re up."
"No, it’s Squeaky’s turn, because Moose went last in the last inning."
"OK, Squeaky go."
Boom.
"That’s a foul."
"No, it’s fair."
"The ball went over the base."
"If the ball goes over the base, it’s fair."
"No, it’s not."
"OK, I’ll go again."
Boom.
" You’re out, Squeaky. Bored caught the ball." "But he dropped it, right away."
"It doesn’t matter."
"Yes, it does."
"The teams aren’t fair. Squeaky is the smallest."
"Well, Hyper is short, too."
"But he’s on the traveling team."
Steve stepped in. "Deal with it, kids. Moose you’re up."
Boom.
"That’s an automatic homerun."
"We’re not playing homeruns."
"Yes, we are. It went all the way down the street."
"You’ve got to run like everyone else."

This went on for a half an hour. The boys spent more time
negotiating the rules and determining fairness, than they did actually
kicking the ball. For the most part, the discussion was calm. Nobody
lost their temper or stormed off the field, but Steve was there to
arbitrate when needed. Mostly Steve stayed out of the debates and let
the boys do their thing. The last word on these debates usually went to
the kid with the most support of his teammates or seemed most adamant
about his point.

From a parent’s perspective, this rule debate seemed to be such a
distraction from the game. The rules seemed so simple to me. How could
they waste so much time hashing out these nuances, rather than running
the bases and slugging the ball? Steve and I rolled our eyes.

How much different is a nine year old kickball game from the grown
up world of politics? Should Florida and Michigan have counted in the
Democratic delegate count? But they held their elections too early;
they knew that their votes wouldn’t count. But what about the voters in
that state? Shouldn’t they have a say? You can’t go back and change the
rules. The candidates didn’t even campaign there much. Should we have a
revote? What kind of a precedent does that set?

Are these stupid discussions as insane and useless as a nine year
old’s debate over the foul line in kickball? Are they distracting us
from the end goal of getting someone into office and making real
changes? Or is the debate about rules and fairness really the whole
point?

Steve and I talked about this on the front porch and watched the
silly boys with new light. They transformed in front of us from dirty,
lanky boys to men in pin-striped suits and brief cases. Little lawyers
and politicians all of them.