From the Annals of Rage and Forgiveness

On Saturday evening my son cracked a plastic mallet against his sister’s head. He’d just lost a round of “Whac-a-Mole” and was furious. He was also tired and hot, by God, after three more blistering days in the upper 90s. “I’m not your friend anymore!” his sister yelled, cheeks red and wet with tears. I yanked the gavel from his hand and sentenced him to a time-out. It’s just that simple at our house. Willfully injure another person and off you go.

It would have been the usual four-minute time-out (one minute for each year of age, says the pediatrician), except that my son was in such sad shape. He’d played in his first soccer game that morning, then had to endure his sister’s match at noon. The sun beat everyone down. “Are you ready to apologize?” I asked him several times.  For some offenses I’ll grant a little leniency if I know there are extenuating circumstances, like hunger or exhaustion. Acts of violence, however, are not among them. “Not sorry!” he fired back. “You may come out when you’re ready to apologize to your sister,” I said, leaving his door ajar. With his whole body, he slammed it shut again.

Ten minutes stretched to twenty, then thirty. I folded laundry and distributed it to every room but his. My daughter grew increasingly fidgety over her brother’s isolation. We could hear him whimpering in his room. “He needs you,” she said to me. “He’s okay; he can come out as soon as he says he’s sorry to you.” I changed out the towels in the bathroom, then stepped into the hall. My daughter had set up camp outside her brother’s room with piles of books and toys. I watched her slide “Barnyard Dance” and a Hot Wheels racer under his door. Amenities for the prisoner. “Don’t do that,” I said. She got up, but returned a few minutes later to coo him reassurances. “Leave him alone!” her Dad called from downstairs.

Another twenty minutes passed before my son was willing to look her in the eye and say “I’m sorry.”  By then it was more about the showdown with me than the game lost to his sister.  With the time out, I’d aimed to teach him a lesson. In the bargain, I’d learned one about my daughter. It’s rare that she doesn’t mind us.  In this case, her insubordination secretly pleased me. She was willing to brave her parents’ disapproval to support her brother. A glimpse into a future of what I hope will always include being there for each other.