Unfair Parents Quotes

Where did we ever get the crazy idea that in order to make children do better, first we have to make them feel worse? Think of the last time you felt humiliated or treated unfairly. Did you feel like cooperating or doing better?

It seems unfair, doesn't it? Our parents got to live their whole lives without anything like this." "Busily building up the world that led to this.

They should love you, just as you are. Parents should love their kids, right?" "You'd think so.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness: Helen Keller, Nelson Mandela, Stephen Hawking, Malala Yousafzai, and—Moki Martin. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, no matter how good you are, you still end up as a sugar cookie. Don’t complain. Don’t blame it on your misfortune. Stand tall, look to the future, and drive on!

You think that kid who starved didn’t want to eat? You think her parents didn’t want to escape the ravages of war badly enough? You think if they’d had more Passion, the cosmere would have saved them? How convenient to believe that people are poor because they didn’t care enough about being rich. That they just didn’t pray hard enough. So convenient to make suffering their own fault, rather than life being unfair and birth mattering more than aptitude. Or storming Passion.

Life is unfair and there are winners and losers, regardless of how much overprotective parents attempt to shield their offspring from reality.

It is the fundamental unfairness of parenthood, that if we do our jobs well, the deepest bond we are given will walk out the door with a wave over the shoulder.

What is much harder to handle is the sense that you have to live up to the mark someone else has set for you. The grades become too important, the competition too frantic, the fear of disappointing those who believe in you turns into an overwhelming nightmare. And it is desperately unfair to the boy. He cannot live his parents' life over again for them. He cannot make up for their own lacks, their own unfulfillments. He cannot carry their torch -- only his own.

As parents, guardians and teachers who are being treated unfairly, we have to be productive, regardless of all the chaos. We cannot be passive, and we have to lay the foundation of truth, the foundation of justice, and the foundation of ownership to obtain closure once and for all to the silent killers that we call bullies.

Children who receive good enough parenting easily recognize and protect themselves from bullying and exploitive people because they do not have to become accustomed to being treated unfairly.

IN MOST FAMILIES, there is a favorite child. Parents deny it and maybe they truly don’t see it, but it’s obvious to the children. Unfairness bothers children greatly. It’s hard to always come in second.

The world is an unfair place because of bullying. A lot of parents loose their children because of bullying next time think twice before bullying someone

Parents abandon their children. Children abandon their parents. Parents protect or forsake, but they always forsake. Children stay or go but they always go. And it's all unfair, especially the sound of the words, because language is pleasing and confusing, because ultimately we would like to sing or at least whistle a tune, to walk alongside the stage whistling a tune. We want to be actors waiting patiently for the cue to go onstage. But the audience left a long time ago.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness:

A positive message delivered in a negative manner will always reap negative results. As one child said, “My parents are yelling and screaming at me, telling me not to yell and scream. They expect me to do something they have not learned to do. It’s unfair.

We achieve some measure of adulthood when we recognize our parents as they really were, without sentimentalizing or mythologyzing, but also without blaming them unfairly for our imperfections.

An adult’s owlness or larkness, also known as their chronotype, is strongly determined by genetics. If you are a night owl, it’s likely that one (or both) of your parents is a night owl. Sadly, society treats night owls rather unfairly on two counts. First is the label of being lazy, based on a night owl’s wont to wake up later in the day, due to the fact that they did not fall asleep until the early-morning hours. Others (usually morning larks) will chastise night owls on the erroneous assumption that such preferences are a choice, and if they were not so slovenly, they could easily wake up early. However, night owls are not owls by choice. They are bound to a delayed schedule by unavoidable DNA hardwiring. It is not their conscious fault, but rather their genetic fate.

I try not to be angry, bitter at the unfairness of it all. I wish I could make sense of it. I once met an ex-Iranian pilot who was traveling through Canada looking for a place to settle down. He said that Americans are the only people he’s ever met who just can’t accept that bad things can happen to good people. Maybe he’s right. Last week I was listening to the radio and just happened to hear [name withheld for legal reasons]. He was doing his usual thing—fart jokes and insults and adolescent sexuality—and I remember thinking, “This man survived and my parents didn’t.” No, I try not to be bitter.

Whether you call it Attachment Parenting, natural parenting, or simple maternal instincts, this false "return" to traditional parenting is just a more explicit and deliberate version of the often unnamed parenting gender divide. Whether you're wearing you baby or not, whether you're using cloth diapers or teaching your four-week-old to use the toilet; it's still women who are doing the bulk of child care, no matter what the parenting philosophy. Putting a fancy name to the fact that we're still doing all the goddamn work doesn't make it any less sexist or unfair

The Baudelaires looked at one another with bitter smiles. Sunny was right. It wasn't fair that their parents had been taken away from them. It wasn't fair that the evil and revolting Count Olaf was pursuing them wherever they went, caring for nothing but their fortune. It wasn't fair that they moved from relative to relative, with terrible things happening at each of their new homes, as if the Baudelaires were riding on some horrible bus that stopped only at stations of unfaireness and misery.

What else can you tell me?” Dad stares at me. “What have you learned while you were awake?” I learned that life is so, so fragile. I learned that you can know someone for just days and never forget the impression he left on you. I learned that art can be beautiful and sad at the same time. I learned that if someone loves you, he’ll wait for you to love him back. I learned that how much you want something doesn’t determine whether you get it or not, that “no” might not be enough, that life isn’t fair, that my parents can’t save me, that maybe no one can. “Nothing much,” I mutter.

My parents had taught me, albeit unwittingly, that one didn't have to rise and respond to every perceived slight or unfair circumstance.

For long minutes we cried, our grief inconsolable. We mourned the innocence of our childhood love; we grieved as parents of our own children. We agonized in the unfairness of the haphazard and tumultuous world we’d been pushed out into through our mothers' flesh. We wept for the first time, one among many firsts we’d shared, for the sheer emotional pain of bedrock loss.

I hate you rings in my ears. “You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.” I wipe his tears with my thumb, and he sniffs, calming down for a minute. “It may seem unfair, but we’re your parents—and if there’s anyone in this world you need to listen to and trust, who will always have your back, it’s us. We just need you to respect us when we tell you something. The same way that we respect you when you ask us questions. What do we do?

There are many differing viewpoints on nature versus nurture, and there are those who believe that bad behavior can be excused and understood if a person doesn't know better. The theory that someone who has been abused as a child will go on to abuse their own children, and so on, because they don't know differently is widely held. But children know. We all know. Learned behavior. When a child is abused, he or she knows, even as it is happening, that it is wrong. I knew. I was abused. When a child is treated unfairly in any way, he or she knows that it is wrong. I knew. I was treated unfairly. And when a child is treated with love and affection, he or she knows that it is right. I knew. I saw how other kids were treated with love and affection by their parents. I knew. My soul cried out to me and told me so. We all know. We all know right from wrong. Our souls cry out to us and tell us so. And we decide, we make our choices, and we are responsible for those choices. We, no one else but we, decide. Anger, hurt, pain, humiliation, fear, dread, confusion-all these emotions we choose. De we hold on to our anger, our pain and humiliation, and hit back, or do we strive to understand that we can do better?

We achieve some measure of adulthood when we recognize our parents as they really were, without sentimentalizing or mythologizing, but also without blaming them unfairly for our imperfections. Maturity entails a readiness, painful and wrenching though it may be, to look squarely into the long dark places, into the fearsome shadows. In this act of ancestral remembrance and acceptance may be found a light by which to see our children safely home.

It is always appropriate to ask for love, but to ask any other adult (including our parents in the present) to meet our primal needs is unfair and unrealistic. Most of us emerge from childhood with conscious and unconscious primal wounds and emotional unfinished business. What we leave incomplete we are doomed to repeat. The untreated traumas of childhood become the frustrating dramas of adulthood. Our fantasy of the “perfect partner,” or our disappointments in a relationship we do not change or leave, or the dramas that keep arising in our relationships reveal our unique unmet primal wounds and needs. We try so hard to get from others what once we missed. What was missed can never be made up for, only mourned and let go of. Only then are we able to relate to adults as adults.

Dear Fathers of the Fatherless Children, The Chief Guardian dives deep and pulls strength from all the hardships and struggles that are thrown at her, yet she is blamed for everything that has gone wrong. Not only is she blamed for everything, but she is also always judged by her actions. As she’s being blamed and judged she’s always given a shitty stick and dealt an unfair hand. How is that fair to the Chief Guardian? She is the one who has to carry the load when she doesn’t have any fight left. She is the one who has to figure every burden out, without any help from the fathers of the fatherless children. Yet she finds the courage to figure it out as she keeps pushing and moving on through the pain.

You know, I just... I just feel like it's unfair, that my whole life is unfair, like I was born into the wrong place and family. I never belong anywhere. My parents don't understand anything about me. And my sister is gone. Sometimes I watch those stupid TV shows, you know? The ones where mothers and daughters talk about feelings and fathers take their kids to play baseball or get ice cream or some shit like that, and I wish it were me. It's so stupid, I know, to want your life to be a sitcom.

You put a certain amount of effort into stitching a jacket or dress and you get the garment you expect. There's no mystery. But you put a thousand times more effort into raising your child and the result is the opposite of what you hope and dream for. This seemed so unfair.

Americans often view maternity leave as a time for a mother to recover from giving birth, and anything longer as an entitlement that unfairly gives women benefits that men and their childless colleagues don’t get. Nordic societies see this question differently. For starters, in the Nordic view long leaves for both parents are seen as crucial to allow the child to form strong bonds with both the mother and the father.

Owing to the shape of a bell curve, the education system is geared to the mean. Unfortunately, that kind of education is virtually calculated to bore and alienate gifted minds. But instead of making exceptions where it would do the most good, the educational bureaucracy often prefers not to be bothered. In my case, for example, much of the schooling to which I was subjected was probably worse than nothing. It consisted not of real education, but of repetition and oppressive socialization (entirely superfluous given the dose of oppression I was getting away from school). Had I been left alone, preferably with access to a good library and a minimal amount of high-quality instruction, I would at least have been free to learn without useless distractions and gratuitous indoctrination. But alas, no such luck. Let’s try to break the problem down a bit. The education system […] is committed to a warm and fuzzy but scientifically counterfactual form of egalitarianism which attributes all intellectual differences to environmental factors rather than biology, implying that the so-called 'gifted' are just pampered brats who, unless their parents can afford private schooling, should atone for their undeserved good fortune by staying behind and enriching the classroom environments of less privileged students. This approach may appear admirable, but its effects on our educational and intellectual standards, and all that depends on them, have already proven to be overwhelmingly negative. This clearly betrays an ulterior motive, suggesting that it has more to do with social engineering than education. There is an obvious difference between saying that poor students have all of the human dignity and basic rights of better students, and saying that there are no inherent educationally and socially relevant differences among students. The first statement makes sense, while the second does not. The gifted population accounts for a very large part of the world’s intellectual resources. As such, they can obviously be put to better use than smoothing the ruffled feathers of average or below-average students and their parents by decorating classroom environments which prevent the gifted from learning at their natural pace. The higher we go on the scale of intellectual brilliance – and we’re not necessarily talking just about IQ – the less support is offered by the education system, yet the more likely are conceptual syntheses and grand intellectual achievements of the kind seldom produced by any group of markedly less intelligent people. In some cases, the education system is discouraging or blocking such achievements, and thus cheating humanity of their benefits.

It is often difficult to admit that someone you love is not perfect or to consider aspects of a person that are less than admirable. To the Baudelaires it felt almost as if they had drawn a line after their parents died. A secret line in their memories separating all the wonderful things about the Baudelaire parents from the things that were perhaps not quite so wonderful. Since the fire whenever they thought of their parents the Baudelaires never stepped over this secret line preferring to ponder the best moments the family had together rather than any of the times when they had fought, been unfair, or selfish.

Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet.

I feel the same black shadow that always comes on the heels of a memory of my father: the acrid smoke of unfairness, the knowledge that the parent I wish was still here is gone.

My dad often joked that none of the money was mine. It was his, and he wasn’t going to spoil me with it. Both my parents value a good work ethic. Hard work and making something of yourself are what they value most. They never forced my brother or me into post-secondary educations. They followed our leads, and while I thought it was unfair at a younger age, I get it now. I get not bankrolling your children’s lives. I get not micromanaging their choices.

You ought to know better, a clever lad like you,’ I expect she said. People were always saying things like that to me when I was young. My parents, my uncles, my schoolmasters—all the various adults who interested themselves in my career. The words used to drive me into secret rages, because on the one hand I wanted desperately to live up to my own reputation for cleverness, and on the other it seemed very unfair, that that cleverness, which I had never asked for, could be turned into something with which to cut me down.

It is easy to see why so many people view empathy as a powerful force for goodness and moral change. It is easy to see why so many believe that the only problem with empathy is that too often we don’t have enough of it. I used to believe this as well. But now I don’t. Empathy has its merits. It can be a great source of pleasure, involved in art and fiction and sports, and it can be a valuable aspect of intimate relationships. And it can sometimes spark us to do good. But on the whole, it’s a poor moral guide. It grounds foolish judgments and often motivates indifference and cruelty. It can lead to irrational and unfair political decisions, it can corrode certain important relationships, such as between a doctor and a patient, and make us worse at being friends, parents, husbands, and wives.

How does this end? Mika wondered. Not how she wanted it to. She thought of Caroline dressing Penny in clothes that matched her own. Of Hiromi forcing Mika to take dance lessons. How mothers see their daughters as echos, as do-overs, as younger versions of themselves who might have the life they didn't or have the same life as they did, but better. But children aren't second chances, Mika realized with a start. It was unfair for Hiromi to believe her desires should live inside Mika. Children are made to take a parent's love and pass it along.

Premature forgiveness will prohibit us from showing the inner child that she had the right to be angry about her parents’ cold-hearted abandonment of her. It will stop us from helping her to express and release those old angry feelings. Premature forgiveness will also inhibit the survivor from reconnecting with his instinctual self-protectiveness. He may never learn that he can now use his anger, if necessary, to stop present day unfairness. As real forgiveness is primarily a feeling, it is - like all other feelings - ephemeral. It is never complete, never permanent, and never a done deal.

To suggest that someone requires a hug is to say something potentially, but only potentially, demeaning. It’s suggesting that they are, at least for the moment, rather like a child. They have the same kinds of emotional needs that we come to think of as essentially childlike. To need a hug is to admit that one is incapable of coping on one’s own, that one requires protection, guidance, the help of someone wiser and more capable, that one needs to have one’s troubles and anxieties reinterpreted by a more mature mind. It is to say, in shorthand, ‘I am at the moment like a child and I need someone else to be, for a while, like a parent.’ Yet even if we don’t usually like to admit it, there are in fact many times when we should be able to revert to a childlike position. There are moments of adult life when one seems petulant, scared, shy and sure that everything suddenly feels totally unfair. One’s ability to look after oneself is terribly depleted. At such times, to get ourselves back together, we need someone else to take the burden from us. We require the equivalent of what the parent does for the child. We are in need of someone to pat us on the head, to put us to bed early, tuck us in and hold us tight.

Being friends with Brad again is weird. Not bad weird. Just... you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It's that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I'm waiting for the crash.

In the final analysis, the question of why bad things happen to good people translates itself into some very different questions, no longer asking why something happened, but asking how we will respond, what we intend to do now that it has happened. Are you capable of forgiving and accepting in love a world which has disappointed you by not being perfect, a world in which there is so much unfairness and cruelty, disease and crime, earthquake and accident? Can you forgive its imperfections and love it because it is capable of containing great beauty and goodness, and because it is the only world we have? Are you capable of forgiving and loving the people around you, even if they have hurt you and let you down by not being perfect? Can you forgive them and love them, because there aren't any perfect people around, and because the penalty for not being able to love imperfect people is condemning oneself to loneliness? Are you capable of forgiving and loving God even when you have found out that He is not prefect, even when He has let you down and disappointed you by permitting bad luck and sickness and cruelty in His world, and permitting some of those things to happen to you? Can you learn to love and forgive Him despite His limitations, as Job does, and as you once learned to forgive and love your parents even though they were not as wise, as strong, or as perfect as you needed them to be? And if you can do these things, will you be able to recognize that the ability to forgive and the ability to love are the weapons God has given us to enable us to live fully, bravely and meaningfully in this less-than-perfect world?

The wrong people get far too much mileage out of things that sound nice,” Wit said. “Take it from a guy who is all too capable with a lie: nothing is easier to sell someone than the story they want to hear. The Passions are deeply insulting if you spare even a moment to consider. I once spoon-fed broth to a trembling child in a kingdom that no longer exists. I found her on a road leading away from a battlefield, after her parents—simple peasants—were slaughtered. Her elder brother lay dead a half mile behind, having starved. “You think that kid who starved didn’t want to eat? You think her parents didn’t want to escape the ravages of war badly enough? You think if they’d had more Passion, the cosmere would have saved them? How convenient to believe that people are poor because they didn’t care enough about being rich. That they just didn’t pray hard enough. So convenient to make suffering their own fault, rather than life being unfair and birth mattering more than aptitude. Or storming Passion.

Eventually, many years later, I came to see him the way everyone else saw him—a nice guy who, despite all the damage he did to us, wasn’t a bad man, not inherently bad, anyway. He just wasn’t very bright, and was in over his head on almost every level of life. He was capable of only so much and not a drop more, and because he seemed so harmless and lost, people not only liked him, they protected him. My mother, despite her poverty, left the opposite impression. She left no doubt that she was psychologically tough and mentally sharp, and because of that the Wozniaks disliked her. And that was another difference between my mother and father. My father was a whiner, a complainer, a perpetually unhappy man unable to comprehend the simple fact that sometimes life is unfair. My mother never complained, and yet her poverty-stricken life was miserable. She never carried on about the early death of her raging alcoholic mother, or the father who raped her, or of a diet dictated by the restrictions of food stamps.

When contempt replaces the milk of human kindness at an early age, the child feels humiliated and overwhelmed. Too helpless to protest or even understand the unfairness of being abused, the child eventually becomes convinced that she is defective and fatally flawed. Frequently she comes to believe that she deserves her parents’ persecution.

In a world deluged by irrelevant information, clarity is power. In theory, anybody can join the debate about the future of humanity, but it is so hard to maintain a clear vision. We might not even notice that a debate is going on, or what the key questions are. Most of us can’t afford the luxury of investigating, because we have more pressing things to do: we have to go to work, take care of the kids, or look after elderly parents. Unfortunately, history does not give discounts. If the future of humanity is decided in your absence, because you are too busy feeding and clothing your kids, you and they will not be exempt from the consequences. This is unfair; but who said history was fair?

One may ask, how is the great King Jaron described by those who know him? The answer rarely includes the word “great,” unless the word to follow is “fool,” though I have also heard “disappointment,” “frustration,” and “chance that he’ll get us all killed.” There are other answers, of course. “He was born to cause trouble, as if nothing else could make him happy.” My nursemaid said that, before I was even four years of age. I still believe her early judgments of me were unfair. Other than occasionally climbing over the castle balconies, and a failed attempt at riding a goat, what could I have possibly done to make her say such a thing? My childhood tutor: “Jaron has a brilliant mind, if one can pin him down long enough to teach him anything he doesn’t think he already knows. Which one rarely can.” It wasn’t that I thought I already knew everything. It was that I had already learned everything I cared to know from him, and besides, I didn’t see the importance of studying in the same way as my elder brother, Darius. He would become king. I would take a position among his advisors or assume leadership within our armies. My parents had long abandoned the idea of me becoming a priest, at the tearful request of our own priest, who once announced over the pulpit that I “belonged to the devils more than the saints.” To be fair, I had just set fire to the pulpit when he said it. Mostly by accident.

once a thing is committed to writing it circulates equally among those who understand the subject and those who have no business with it; a writing cannot distinguish between suitable and unsuitable readers. And if it is ill-treated or unfairly abused it always needs its parent to come to its rescue; it is quite incapable of defending or helping itself. (Socrates, in Plato, Phaedrus, 275d5-275e5)

In 1970, Alix Kates Shulman, a wife, mother, and writer who had joined the Women's Liberation Movement in New York, wrote a poignant account of how the initial equality and companionship of her marriage had deteriorated once she had children. "[N]ow I was restricted to the company of two demanding preschoolers and to the four walls of an apartment. It seemed unfair that while my husband's life had changed little when the children were born, domestic life had become the only life I had." His job became even more demanding, requiring late nights and travel out of town. Meanwhile it was virtually impossible for her to work at home. "I had no time for myself; the children were always there." Neither she nor her husband was happy with the situation, so they did something radical, which received considerable media coverage: they wrote up a marriage agreement... In it they asserted that "each member of the family has an equal right to his/her own time, work, values and choices... The ability to earn more money is already a privilege which must not be compounded by enabling the larger earner to buy out of his/her duties and put the burden on the one who earns less, or on someone hired from outside." The agreement insisted that domestic jobs be shared fifty-fifty and, get this girls, "If one party works overtime in any domestic job, she/he must be compensated by equal work by the other." The agreement then listed a complete job breakdown... in other worde, the agreement acknowledged the physical and the emotional/mental work involved in parenting and valued both. At the end of the article, Shulman noted how much happier she and her husband were as a result of the agreement. In the two years after its inception, Shulman wrote three children's books, a biography and a novel. But listen, too, to what it meant to her husband, who was now actually seeing his children every day. After the agreement had been in effect for four months, "our daughter said one day to my husband, 'You know, Daddy, I used to love Mommy more than you, but now I love you both the same.

Dear John Ambrose McClaren, I know the exact day it all started. Fall, eighth grade. We got caught in the rain when we had to put all the softball bats away after gym. We started to run back to the building, and I couldn’t run as fast as you, so you stopped and grabbed my bag too. It was even better than if you’d grabbed my hand. I still remember the way you looked--your T-shirt was stuck to your back, your hair wet like you just came out of the shower. When it started to pour, you whooped and hollered like a little kid. There was this moment--you looked back at me, and your grin was as wide as your face. You said, “Come on, LJ!” It was right then. That’s when I knew, all the way down to my soaking-wet Keds. I love you, John Ambrose McClaren. I really love you. I might have loved you for all of high school. I think you might have loved me back. If only you weren’t moving away, John! It’s so unfair when people move away. It’s like their parents just decide something and no one else gets a say in it. Not that I even deserve a say--I’m not your girlfriend or anything. But you at least deserve a say. I was really hoping that one day I would get to call you Johnny. Your mom came to get you after school once, and a bunch of us were hanging out on the front steps. And you didn’t see her car, so she honked and called out, “Johnny!” I loved the sound of that. Johnny. One day, I bet your girlfriend will call you Johnny. She’s really lucky. Maybe you already have a girlfriend right now. If you do, know this--once upon a time in Virginia, a girl loved you. I’m going to say it just this once, since you’ll never hear it anyway. Good-bye, Johnny. Love, Lara Jean I let out a scream, so loud and so piercing that Jamie barks in alarm. “Sorry,” I whisper, falling back against my pillows. I cannot believe that John Ambrose McClaren read that letter. I didn’t remember it to be so…naked. With so much…yearning. God, why do I have to be a person who yearns so much? How horrible. How perfectly horrible. I’ve never been naked in front of a boy before, but now I feel like I have.

We need to understand exactly how appalling parenting created the now self-perpetuating trauma that we live in. We can learn to do this in a way that takes the mountain of unfair self-blame off ourselves. We can redirect this blame to our parents’ dreadful child-rearing practices. And we can also do this in a way that motivates us to reject their influence so that we can freely orchestrate our journey of recovering.

Life is so unfair. Why would children be born to parents who use and abuse them while those who cherish and ‘garnish’ them remain ‘empty’? Why would the obdurate and cantankerous abound in wealth while the affectionate and generous pauperize? Why would the beautiful and dutiful lack suitors while the bland and unplanned are plenteously patronized? Why would everyday be for the thief’ and not for the chief? Why, why and why?

In fact, after his accident, Moki went on to be an accomplished painter. He fathered a beautiful young girl. He founded and continues to oversee the Super Frog Triathlon that is held every year in Coronado. It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness: Helen Keller, Nelson Mandela, Stephen Hawking, Malala Yousafzai, and—Moki Martin. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, no matter how good you are, you still end up as a sugar cookie. Don’t complain. Don’t blame it on your misfortune. Stand tall, look to the future, and drive on!

Interestingly, in terms of shame triggers for women, motherhood is a close second. And (bonus!) you don’t have to be a mother to experience mother shame. Society views womanhood and motherhood as inextricably bound; therefore our value as women is often determined by where we are in relation to our roles as mothers or potential mothers. Women are constantly asked why they haven’t married or, if they’re married, why they haven’t had children. Even women who are married and have one child are often asked why they haven’t had a second child. You’ve had your kids too far apart? “What were you thinking?” Too close? “Why? That’s so unfair to the kids.” If you’re working outside the home, the first question is “What about the children?” If you’re not working, the first question is “What kind of example are you setting for your daughters?” Mother shame is ubiquitous—it’s a birthright for girls and women. But

Conservatives favor educational reform, such as vouchers and scholarships and charter schools. Again we need to explain why: because education reform empowers parents and expands opportunities for kids struggling to get ahead in schools that have failed them. It is at its core a civil rights issue, and it is fundamentally unfair to trap kids in bad schools because of their race, ethnicity, income level, or simply because they live in the wrong zip codes.

You think that kid who starved didn't want to eat? You think her parents didn't want to escape the ravages of war badly enough? You think if they'd had more Passion, the cosmere would have saved them? How convenient to believe that people are poor because they didn't care enough about being rich. That they just didn't pray hard enough. So convenient to make suffering their own fault, rather than life being unfair and birth mattering more than aptitude. Or storming Passion.

We believed we were supposed to "cope" as best we could. As we talked, we realized the disability itself was not that big a deal for us. We had all learned to accept our physical limitations. What made life difficult was not the disability, but the lack of services and support, the lack of accessibility, the unfair and stereotypical ways in which we were treated, the pity doled out for us all our lives. Often, after a meeting, I wrote my thoughts down in a notebook. "It's not my fault that I'm disabled, yet I've been made to feel that it is," I wrote. "My polio never made me unhappy; people made me unhappy. Ever since I was a little girl, people have always made me feel I was no good because I was disabled. From Sicilian women and the nuns to the doctors who couldn't fix me, to my fellow students and prospective employers... and even my own parents." As I wrote, my tears fell and stained the pages - tears of anger, of relief and of new hope.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness: Helen Keller, Nelson Mandela, Stephen Hawking, Malala Yousafzai, and—Moki Martin.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness: Helen Keller, Nelson Mandela, Stephen Hawking, Malala Yousafzai, and - Moki Martin.

Before I could say a word, Becca said just what I’d been thinking: “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all. Danielle is too nice.” I held onto Becca’s hands. “No. It isn’t fair,” I agreed. “But it happened. Just like a lot of unfair things that happen. It isn’t fair that Stacey has diabetes. It isn’t fair that people sometimes tease you because your skin is darker than theirs. It isn’t fair that parents get divorced. War isn’t fair. But those things happen, and then we have to deal with them.

A cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage. He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him. He must always tell the truth. He must be gentle with children, the elderly and animals. He must be free from racial and religious prejudices. He must help people in distress. He must be a good worker. He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action and personal habits. He must respect women, parents and his nation’s laws. The Cowboy is a patriot.” – GENE AUTRY’S “COWBOY CODE

A child, with parents who are unable or unwilling to provide safe enough attachment, has no one to whom she can bring her whole developing self. No one is there for reflection, validation and guidance. No one is safe enough to go to for comfort or help in times of trouble. There is no one to cry to, to protest unfairness to, and to seek compassion from for hurts, mistakes, accidents, and betrayals. No one is safe enough to shine with, to do “show and tell” with, and to be reflected as a subject of pride. There is no one to even practice the all-important intimacy-building skills of conversation. In the paraphrased words of more than one of my clients: “Talking to Mom was like giving ammunition to the enemy. Anything I said could and would be used against me. No wonder, people always tell me that I don’t seem to have much to say for myself.” Those with Cptsd-spawned attachment disorders never learn the communication skills that engender closeness and a sense of belonging. When it comes to relating, they are often plagued by debilitating social anxiety - and social phobia when they are at the severe end of the continuum of Cptsd.

It’s because he’s ashamed of himself. He carries this pile of guilt around, caused by nothing but his own choices. And every day he doesn’t parent you, doesn’t treat you the way he should, that guilt gets heavier, and when he sees you, is reminded of you, it becomes unbearable. What he doesn’t realize is the difference between short-term and long-term pain. If he put up with his discomfort years ago in order to do right by you—if he had taken responsibility for his actions and tried to make it up to you—that guilt of his might have gone away. Instead, he’s doomed himself to slowly die beneath it.

Ultimately, Socrates did not fear reading. He feared superfluity of knowledge and its corollary—superficial understanding. Reading by the untutored represented an irreversible, invisible loss of control over knowledge. As Socrates put it, “Once a thing is put in writing, the composition, whatever it may be, drifts all over the place, getting into the hands not only of those who understand it, but equally of those who have no business with it; it doesn’t know how to address the right people, and not address the wrong. And when it is ill treated and unfairly abused it always needs its parents to come to its help,

His first year at Evermore he’d tried holding onto Marseille… In time he’d let it all go and watched it rupture without regret. His father had sold him to the Moriyamas knowing the sort of people they were and knowing what would happen to him. Why would Jean hold onto any of that? It was a touch unfair, perhaps, that he expected his parents to defy the Moriyamas when he himself could not, but did they have to agree so quickly? His father hadn’t even asked for a moment to consider the master’s offer or to confer with his wife, and his mother had only shrugged and changed the subject when she heard the news later.

Empathy has its merits. It can be a great source of pleasure, involved in art and fiction and sports, and it can be a valuable aspect of intimate relationships. And it can sometimes spark us to do good. But on the whole, it’s a poor moral guide. It grounds foolish judgments and often motivates indifference and cruelty. It can lead to irrational and unfair political decisions, it can corrode certain important relationships, such as between a doctor and a patient, and make us worse at being friends, parents, husbands, and wives. I am against empathy, and one of the goals of this book is to persuade you to be against empathy too.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness: Helen Keller, Nelson Mandela, Stephen Hawking, Malala Yousafzai, and—Moki Martin. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, no matter how good you are, you still end up as a sugar cookie. Don’t complain. Don’t blame it on your misfortune. Stand

My parents knew that I was not speaking much at school, but they both knew that I was learning English. They had seen me write letters to Grandma in California. They had noticed when I laughed at the funny parts of Tom & Jerry. But the thing that gave me away most was my anger. Whenever I got angry, I spoke in English, unless I was angry at them, in which case I would want them to know everything I was saying, so I would try my best at being angry in Hmong: “Dawb is a lazy bum, and you never ask her to do anything. You always ask me because I do it. I make it too easy for you! You are being unfair! You are parents, and you are not doing your job well!” I

Blameshifting is so easy; after all, it has such a long history—it goes back to the Garden. A person’s personal relationship to the counselee is discussed publicly without any knowledge of the fact on his part and without any opportunity for him to straighten out misunderstandings or balance off unfair judgments. His name and his actions are being discussed in an intimate way by a group of people who know nothing about him and have no right to know anything about him. Often the discussion is instigated by a bitter, resentful person who, according to Matthew 18, should have gone directly to the husband or parent or pastor to seek reconciliation if he felt that way.

She was a daughter, a sister, and then a wife. But now her parents were dead—did that make her an orphan? Certainly not. Was there a specific age, she wondered, old enough, after which you were not considered an orphan if your parents died? Eighteen perhaps. And then her husband died—so she was a widow. But was there a certain age, young enough, that if you lost your husband you did not have to be called a widow? If a young childless woman lost her husband tragically when she was only twenty-five—or even thirty-seven, like Mrs. Ray had been—it felt unfair to burden her with the label of widow for the rest of her life. And Mrs. Ray certainly did not feel like a widow, even though she was reminded that she was one nearly every day in Mayur Palli.

Another common adult misunderstanding is this: Parents and teachers think that the child should be taught the local geography first. From there they introduce her to ever larger units by graduated steps. The child is not, however, naturally disposed to learn by graduated steps. Her mind tends to leap from one spatial-temporal scale to another, such that, at seven or eight, she may well take a more lively interest in America than in Dane County, Wisconsin, in the dinosaur than in the dairy cow, in the Great Wall of China than in her hometown’s water tower. Socially and morally, too, she is more drawn to issues of good and evil, fairness and unfairness, categories that affect her life, than to adult priorities of class, ethnicity, and nationality.14 Unfortunately, adults have power, which they all too often use to steer the child to their own narrower concerns.

We believed we were supposed to 'cope' as best we could. As we talked, we realized the disability itself was not that big a deal for us. We had all learned to accept our physical limitations. What made life difficult was not the disability, but the lack of services and support, the lack of accessibility, the unfair and stereotypical ways in which we were treated, the pity doled out for us all our lives. Often, after a meeting, I wrote my thoughts down in a notebook. 'It's not my fault that I'm disabled, yet I've been made to feel that it is,' I wrote. 'My polio never made me unhappy; people made me unhappy. Ever since I was a little girl, people have always made me feel I was no good because I was disabled. From Sicilian women and the nuns to the doctors who couldn't fix me, to my fellow students and prospective employers... and even my own parents.' As I wrote, my tears fell and stained the pages - tears of anger, of relief and of new hope.

The price of privilege is the moral duty to act when one sees another person treated unfairly. And the least that a person in the dominant caste can do is not make the pain any worse. If each of us could truly see and connect with the humanity of the person in front of us, search for that key that opens the door to whatever we may have in common, whether cosplay or Star Trek, or the loss of a parent, it could begin to affect how we see the world and others in it. Perhaps change the way we hire or even vote. Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean. With our current ruptures, it is not enough to not be racist or sexist. Our times call for being pro-African American, pro-woman, pro-Latino, pro-Asian, pro-Indigenous, pro-humanity in all its manifestations. In our era, it is not enough to be tolerant.

As a parent, your counter-dependence can set you up to feel, on some level, deeply uncomfortable with the dependence that is naturally built into your relationship with your child. Your own needs were thwarted as a child, and now a small being has lots of needs that you are required to fulfill. You may feel, on some deep or even unconscious level, that this is an unfair bind to be placed in. And now that we’re talking about this openly, I want to assure you that your feeling makes a lot of sense and is valid. You are indeed in an unfair bind. On top of that, society tells you (by seldom airing any negative feelings about parenting) that your feeling of being in an unfair bind is not how a parent is supposed to feel. In addition to the bind, your fear of relying on others may make it difficult for you to ask for help and accept help. All parents get overwhelmed and exhausted at times, and need support and assistance. If relying on other caretakers makes you feel vulnerable or weak or selfish, you will find yourself running on empty.

unfairness can take many forms. It can take the form of the inheritance of property—bonds and stocks, houses, factories; it can also take the form of the inheritance of talent—musical ability, strength, mathematical genius. The inheritance of property can be interfered with more readily than the inheritance of talent. But from an ethical point of view, is there any difference between the two? Yet many people resent the inheritance of property but not the inheritance of talent. Look at the same issue from the point of view of the parent. If you want to assure your child a higher income in life, you can do so in various ways. You can buy him (or her) an education that will equip him to pursue an occupation yielding a high income; or you can set him up in a business that will yield a higher income than he could earn as a salaried employee; or you can leave him property, the income from which will enable him to live better. Is there any ethical difference among these three ways of using your property? Or again, if the state leaves you any money to spend over and above taxes, should the state permit you to spend it on riotous living but not to leave it to your children?

In 1965, when Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan argued that Black communities were caught in a tangle of pathology because our communities had a disproportionate number of female-led households, his conclusions had both affective and social dimensions. His 1965 report, “The Negro Family: The Case for National Action” offered social and political recommendations focused on ways to help Black men become breadwinners again, so they could assume their “rightful” place at the head of Black families. But the affective goal of his infamous Moynihan Report was to shame Black women for the very mundane magic involved in our making a way out of no way. That shame persists well into the twenty-first century, when more than 70 percent of Black households are female-led. Black women have proportionally higher rates of abortion than any other group. There is no shame in having an abortion. I consider the right to choose the conditions under which one becomes a parent to be one of the most important social values. But I believe that decades of discourse about poor Black women and unwed Black mothers being “welfare queens,” who unfairly take more from the system than they put in, has shamed many Black women into not bearing children that they otherwise might consider having. The idea that only middle-class, straight, married women deserve to start families is both racist and patriarchal.

#25. Valuing Yourself and Your Needs (As a Parent): This is about taking care of your OWN needs as a parent because when you consistently put yourself last to be taken care of and habitually continue to sacrifice your basic necessities to make everyone else happy…Essentially, what you’re teaching your children is that they’re here to be of service to others, then themselves. In other words, you’re teaching them to take advantage of you and use you as they please, which in turn communicates to them that they’re most likely to be used. To prevent this from happening, you need to set consistent limits that protect you from demands that could be overbearing and unfair. That way, you’re communicating that your basic needs are just as important as theirs. It’s true…often times parents that are constantly sacrificing themselves are idealized and praised by other parents. You know… the ones that have no hobbies, no friends and no avenue of enjoyment. Is this really desirable? Parents constantly stressed about the needs of others in the family are usually irritable, and unmotivated to try anything new, fun or exciting. How can parents do this long term with no outlet? Instead, us parents need to enjoy ourselves and focus on being re-energized. When you take good care of yourself, you provide the means to take better care of your children. Going out to dinner or cocktails, trips to the gym 3 or 4 times a week, date night with your spouse or even some alone time reading or going for a walk allows you to be a more productive, interested and patient parent.

While parents like Cyndi Paul find it heartbreaking to start imposing discipline, children react well when reprimands are delivered briefly, calmly, and consistently, according to Susan O’Leary, a psychologist who has spent long hours observing toddlers and parents. When parents are inconsistent, when they let an infraction slide, they sometimes try to compensate with an extra-strict punishment for the next one. This requires less self-control on the parents’ part: They can be nice when they feel like it, and then punish severely if they’re feeling angry or the misbehavior is egregious. But imagine how this looks from the child’s point of view. Some days you make a smart remark and the grown-ups all laugh. Other days a similar remark brings a smack or the loss of treasured privileges. Seemingly tiny or even random differences in your own behavior or in the situation seem to spell the difference between no punishment at all and a highly upsetting one. Besides resenting the unfairness, you learn that the most important thing is not how you behave but whether or not you get caught, and whether your parents are in the mood to punish. You might learn, for instance, that table manners can be dispensed with at restaurants, because the grown-ups are too embarrassed to discipline you in public. “Parents find it hard to administer discipline in public because they feel judged,” Carroll says. “They’re afraid people will think they’re a bad mother. But you have to get that out of your head. I’ve had people stare at me when I take a child out of a restaurant for being rude, but you can’t worry about that. You have to do what’s right for the child, and it really is all about being consistent. They have to grow up knowing what’s appropriate and inappropriate behavior.

As hip hop has made clear—and black religion, too, for that matterwhen we conceive of the horrors we confront, they have a masculine tint; we measure the terrors we face by calculating their harm to our men and boys. Thus the role of our artists has often been limited to validating the experiences, expressions, and desires of boys and men. When we name those plagued by police violence, we cite the names of the boys and men but not the names of the girls and women. We take special note of how black boys are unfairly kicked out of school while ignoring that our girls are right next to them in the line of expulsion. We empathize with black men who end up in jail because of a joint they smoked while overlooking the defense against domestic abuse that lands just as many women in jail. We offer authority and celebration to men at church to compensate for how the white world overlooks their talents unless they carry a ball or a tune. We thank black fathers for lovingly parenting their children, and many more of them do so than is recognized in the broader world, which is one reason for our gratitude. But we are relatively thankless for the near superhuman efforts of our mothers to nurture and protect us.

Caricatures of low-income parents, unfair prejudices, & a refusal to recognize social context & limitations - these cannot be the basis of our collective practices.

In everyday life we know that someone who is a true lover is very different from someone who is a pretender or a playboy. We know that true love should not be motivated at all by self- interest. And such is God’s love for us. It is a love that seeks the very best for us; it is sacrificial; it never stops giving. Perhaps the closest we can come to understanding the essence and quality of God’s love for us—though it is still a faint reflection of the reality—is the way in which we love our children. We bring these helpless, fragile little things home from the hospital and we love them. They have not done anything to deserve our love, indeed they are totally incapable of doing anything for us, yet we love them. From the moment we become a parent we know that from now on, life will pretty much revolve around our child and often they will inconvenience us in ways we can only dream of! Yet, we never stop loving them—really loving them. Parents and their children are a model to help us understand the way in which our Heavenly Father God really loves each one of us. As we think about how unconditionally we love our children and begin to grasp how complete and unconditional the Father’s love for us is, we can begin to scratch the surface of His grace and understand a little of the motivation behind God’s unmerited offer of salvation and forgiveness for our sins. Despite a lot of good teaching on the subject in the Church over the years, many Christians are still mystified by grace. They fail to live in the richness of it themselves and they fail to show grace to others. Many are still trapped by a performance-based theology that thinks God’s love must be earned or deserved. They think that if they behave well and perform good works for God then He will love them more. This is so far from the truth! God cannot love us any more nor any less than He does now, and He longs for us to live in the place of grace where we understand that He gives His love to us freely. God’s love and grace are gifts for us to receive. Do we ever deserve them? No! We are totally undeserving, but we are the undeserving who are the apple of His eye. GRACE AND FORGIVENESS The title of this book Grace and Forgiveness is purposefully chosen because the issue of God’s grace is vitally intertwined with the issue of forgiveness. They are not simply two distinct aspects of our spiritual life that we have decided to place together in the same book. When we come into a real understanding of the extent of God’s grace towards us and what that means, we begin to see how vital and necessary it is that we pass that grace and love on to others. Grace becomes an irresistible force in our lives. When properly understood, the “unfairness” and “injustice” of God’s grace towards us is deeply shocking, even offensive to our human understanding, as we will see. But in the same way that God lavishly and extravagantly pours His grace out upon our lives, He is calling us to learn how to show grace to others by forgiving those who truly don’t deserve it. The great discovery of forgiveness is that, through a selfless act, we open ourselves up to a greater outpouring of the blessing of God on our lives. There are two important things that every Christian needs to realize at some point in their journey as a believer, preferably sooner rather than later! The first is that our God is very big and very powerful and there is nothing that He cannot do. The second is that He is very loving and compassionate towards us. The Bible says that “God is love”. This is not a statement about what He does, but about who He is. He is the very embodiment of perfect, flawless love. His heart for us is to see us living our spiritual lives where we are operating with the dynamics of His Kingdom, just as Jesus did. It is a Kingdom of love, filled with faith, aware of the bigness of our God; aware of His willingness to interact with us and do things for us as we act in loving obedience to Him.

This drift towards unthinking normalisation is compounded by children’s natural urge to think well of their parents, even at the cost of looking after their own interests. It is always – strangely – preferable for a child to think of themselves as unworthy and deficient than to acknowledge their parent as unstable and unfair.

I used to firmly believe that prestigious schools, which encompasses both private schools and top-tier quantile 5 public schools with impressive graduation rates, held a clear advantage over lower-quality no fee public schools. That was, until Dr Thomas Sowell introduced me to the sorting function of the formal schooling system and the unfair advantage prestigious schools have since they can pick and choose who they admit. From the outset they can choose to admit students of a certain intellect thus increasing the chances of these students performing favourably relative to no fee public schools that have an obligation to admit everyone. Parents who can afford to send their child to private school are usually more involved and provide more resources for their child to succeed. The ability of parents to afford the prohibitively high costs of the schools is also an indicator of the child’s abilities since his parents had it in them to work hard enough to earn what enabled to afford a prestigious school. Once you have factored those aspects as a minimum, the prestigious school’s performance doesn’t seem that great. As long as the parents have resources to support the child’s learning environment, the type of school a child attends becomes less relevant. This is why the quantile 5 public schools perform at the level of private schools. As the level of the parent’s material wealth increases such that more educational resources can be availed to the child, so does the performance of a child. This, off course happens to a certain level as the law of diminishing return eventually kicks in.

A baby that grows in the lap of Muslim parents; but appears unfair and dishonest; conversely, a baby that grows in the lap of non-Muslim parents and becomes fair and honest; sure, I will salute and respect the fair and honest one.

Try and understand your parents, Karl. You owe us at least that much. I know you’re angry. You feel wounded. You think that Helge and I were obsessed with the Idea, that it finally imploded, and this has made you suspicious of all ideas. And yet you know full well that our Idea was not the DDR. You can make many criticisms of Marx, but to hold him responsible for our so-called socialist experiences is unfair.

Franklin made a mistake, however. As the owner of the business, he assigned his nephew number two on the time clock, right under him, which was taken by the other workers as tiresome evidence of the unfairness of nepotism. Kurt was embarrassed.120 Many of the men employed by Vonnegut Hardware were making the same salary he was—fourteen dollars a week. It was his first real-life lesson in social and economic disparity, illustrating what he had read in a book recently given to him by Uncle Alex: Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class. He reveled in its attacks on conspicuous consumption, “since it made low comedy of the empty graces and aggressively useless possessions which my parents, and especially my mother, meant to regain some day.”121 With the excitement of a youngster who has at last caught his parents red-handed, he realized he was being raised to become bourgeois. *

There are also occasions on which a mother’s love for her own children or a man’s love for his own country have to be suppressed, or they will lead to unfairness towards other people’s children or countries.

But I can’t tell you what to do,” he repeats. Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet.

Mum’s voice gets higher as she grips my hand and relives the same awful details again and again. I do what she would have done, back when I was small and outraged, red-faced with some unfairness or pain, caught in the eddy of my story. Shhh, shhhh, it’s done. It’s done. We are here. You are all right. Breathe. I know it was terrible. I am here. The pieces of parenting she gifted me, without knowing, are pieces of her. Now they are me. Maybe it’s not roles being reversed but rather a relay race that goes round like a story, a happier story. Softly, the light changes outside. Fresh nurses relieve tired ones; the thread of meticulous kindness is picked up. Mum sleeps.

Even women who are married and have one child are often asked why they haven’t had a second child. You’ve had your kids too far apart? “What were you thinking?” Too close? “Why? That’s so unfair to the kids.” If you’re working outside the home, the first question is “What about the children?” If you’re not working, the first question is “What kind of example are you setting for your daughters?” Mother shame is ubiquitous—it’s a birthright for girls and women. But the real struggle for women—what amplifies shame regardless of the category—is that we’re expected (and sometimes desire) to be perfect, yet we’re not allowed to look as if we’re working for it. We want it to just materialize somehow. Everything should be effortless. The expectation is to be natural beauties, natural mothers, natural leaders, and naturally good parents, and we want to belong to naturally fabulous families. Think about how much money has been made selling products that promise “the natural look.” And when it comes to work, we love to hear, “She makes it look so easy,” or “She’s a natural.

I’m sorry for the pain that life has given you. I’m sorry if your parents neglected you. I’m sorry if your teacher ignored you. I’m sorry if a heartbreaker said “I do” on your wedding day but “I don’t” every day afterward. I’m sorry if you were inappropriately touched, intentionally mocked, or unfairly dismissed. I’m sorry if you ended up in Egypt. But if the story of Joseph teaches us anything, it is this: we have a choice. We can wear our hurt or wear our hope. We can outfit ourselves in our misfortune, or we can clothe ourselves in God’s providence.

No parent should outlive their children. To lose eight of them? So young? It staggers the mind. “Unfair” does not even come close. It’s grotesque. How easily this could shatter a person, how easily and understandably it might cause them to toss away everything they ever believed, to hate a world that could be so cruel. Yet somehow we have Marcus Aurelius

can help our adult children to know how we may have made mistakes that led to them making poor decisions. And I’m sorry if this seems unfair. ‘It’s not fair’ was my first idea for a title for this book, because the grown-ups have to invest a lot of their time in their children and, however considerate we are with it, parenting comes with no guarantees.

Their coping style is frequently so self-defeating and disruptive that other people have to step in to repair the damage from their impulsive actions. Externalizers feel that competent people owe them help and tend to believe that good things have come to other people rather unfairly.

It is totally unfair that Lucy should not only have a cool boyfriend but a boyfriend our parents can’t stand, something I have been praying for my entire life, practically.

When your tween begins to isolate from you, especially in public, you may feel rejected or embarrassed, but nothing rivals the stigma of a parent who is labeled too permissive about their kid being unsupervised in public. “To each his own, but I’d never let my kid go to the mall alone. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened.” This is a strange sort of brag that implies the parent who lets their kid explore public spaces independently a) doesn’t understand the risks involved, b) understands the risks but willfully ignores them, or c) would somehow be inhumanly okay if a tragedy befell their child. I understand and relate to being afraid of what might happen when your kid starts navigating the world without you. I’ve had all the same horrible fantasies as the next parent. But it’s not only unfair, it’s also cruel to blame parents for the terrible things that can happen, at random, to anyone.

Frequently, we don’t even notice that a debate is going on, or what the key questions are. Billions of us can hardly afford the luxury of investigating, because we have more pressing things to do: we have to go to work, take care of the kids, or look after elderly parents. Unfortunately, history gives no discounts. If the future of humanity is decided in your absence, because you are too busy feeding and clothing your kids – you and they will not be exempt from the consequences. This is very unfair; but who said history was fair?

It seems unfair, doesn’t it? Our parents got to live their whole lives without anything like this.” “Busily building up the world that led to this.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life's unfairness.

I think kids have their secret favorite parent, and for me, it's always been Dad, which I think had to do with my seeing him as valuable to society, someone I wanted to emulate. But I thought how unfair that was, how that view of him came at the price of my seeing Mom as "merely" our caretaker. His noble generoisty wasn't that - or maybe it was, but it's easy to be generous when you've taken so much.

I går kväll träffade jag en kille som gjorde mig lycklig. I morse förklarade mina föräldrar hur fel jag hade. Hur fel jag är som blir kär i killar

The problem, in other words, did not arise with one specific law or regulation, but from an elemental condition and the fact that racial unfairness is embedded in American legal culture and in our institutions.

BOTH IN PERSONAL conversations and in the statistics, I sense a change among America’s young, who increasingly display both a pervasive cynicism about politics (particularly after Obama turned out to be business as usual) and also, unless they are in the upper 5 percent or so, a fatalism about their personal career prospects. Their general view is: if you have rich parents, a computer science background, or an MBA, you’re okay; otherwise, you’re not okay, and if you want to change that and make some money, you had better concentrate really hard on pleasing the boss. Outside of Silicon Valley and Wall Street, the America of possibility, openness, progress, and opportunity seems increasingly distant. Most older Americans, in contrast, still do not seem to realize how unfair their society has become over the last generation unless they have become victims of it themselves.

There are many facets to the decline in fairness and opportunity in American life. Perhaps the worst are the conditions now imposed upon young children born into the underclass and subjected to the recent evolution of the educational system. They are related, and they reinforce each other; their combined result is to condemn tens of millions of children, particularly those born into the new underclass, to a life of hardship and unfairness. For any young child whose parents don’t have money, or who is the child of a migrant agricultural worker and/or an illegal immigrant, prenatal care, nursery, day care, after school, school nutrition, and foster-care systems are nothing short of appalling. And then comes school itself. The “American dream”, stated simply, is that no matter how poor or humble your origins—even if you never knew your parents—you have a shot at a decent life. America’s promise is that anyone willing to work hard can do better over time, and have at least a reasonable life for themselves and their own children. You could expect to do better than your parents, and even be able to help them as they grew old. More than ever before, the key to such a dream is a good education. The rise of information technology, and the opening of Asian economies, means that only a small portion of America’s population can make a good living through unskilled or manual labour. But instead of elevating the educational system and the opportunities it should provide, American politicians, and those who follow their lead around the globe, have been going in exactly the wrong direction. As a result, we are developing not a new class system, but, without exaggeration, a new caste system—a society in which the circumstances of your birth determine your entire life. As a result, the dream of opportunity is dying. Increasingly, the most important determinant of a child’s life prospects—future income, wealth, educational level, even health and life expectancy—is totally arbitrary and unfair. It’s also very simple. A child’s future is increasingly determined by his or her parents’ wealth, not by his or her intelligence or energy. To be sure, there are a number of reasons for this. Income is correlated with many other things, and it’s therefore difficult to isolate the impact of individual factors. Children in poor households are more likely to grow up in single-parent versus two-parent households, exposed to drugs and alcohol, with one or both parents in prison, with their immigration status questionable, and more likely to have problems with diet and obesity. Culture and race play a role: Asian children have far higher school graduation rates, test scores, and grades than all other groups, including whites, in the US; Latinos, the lowest.

When speaking to groups, I explain that being dyslexic is like running a 100-meter track race. In my lane I have hurdles, but no one else does. I have this feeling that it's unfair that I’m the only one with hurdles but don’t know how to explain it. Soon the feeling leaves me as the starting gun shoots and I take off running. I try running like the other classmates, because we have all had the same education on how to run. But then I hit the first hurdle and fall flat on my face. My parents and teachers are yelling at me from the sidelines “ try harder, the other kids are making it down the track ok, you must be lazy or slow”. Pulling myself up I try running faster and fall even harder after hitting the next hurdle. Then someone takes the time to show me how to run hurdles and like an Olympic hurdler, I outrun the other classmates. The key, though, is that I have to do it differently, the way that works best for me. Learning is like a tailored suit; it takes a while and is unique to everyone.

for religious parents, passing on their own beliefs and values is generally an uncomplicated, straightforward endeavor. Religious parents typically find it a joy and duty to simply pass on their own religious beliefs and traditions. They don’t worry about unduly influencing their children’s belief system. Quite the opposite—you actively seek to influence your children’s beliefs in accordance with your religious faith. But many secular parents see this very process of passing on one’s religion to one’s kids as a form of indoctrination. They see religious faith as something that is directly and unfairly imposed on kids. They view young children as intellectually vulnerable, willing and perhaps even evolutionarily designed to believe almost anything their parents teach them about the nature of the world.

We must remain calm as parents and try not to lose control of ourselves, when we become parents. For how can we expect our kids to control themselves if we can’t do it? That seems unfair.

Oh, Millie!” I cried in between sobs, “My parents said we have to move. We have to move away to some random place in the country. It’s so unfair! I can’t go! I can’t leave my life here…change schools, leave you behind and leave Blake! I just can’t!

In April 2012, The New York Times published a heart-wrenching essay by Claire Needell Hollander, a middle school English teacher in the New York City public schools. Under the headline “Teach the Books, Touch the Heart,” she began with an anecdote about teaching John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. As her class read the end together out loud in class, her “toughest boy,” she wrote, “wept a little, and so did I.” A girl in the class edged out of her chair to get a closer look and asked Hollander if she was crying. “I am,” she said, “and the funny thing is I’ve read it many times.” Hollander, a reading enrichment teacher, shaped her lessons around robust literature—her classes met in small groups and talked informally about what they had read. Her students did not “read from the expected perspective,” as she described it. They concluded (not unreasonably) that Holden Caulfield “was a punk, unfairly dismissive of parents who had given him every advantage.” One student read Lady Macbeth’s soliloquies as raps. Another, having been inspired by Of Mice and Men, went on to read The Grapes of Wrath on his own and told Hollander how amazed he was that “all these people hate each other, and they’re all white.” She knew that these classes were enhancing her students’ reading levels, their understanding of the world, their souls. But she had to stop offering them to all but her highest-achieving eighth-graders. Everyone else had to take instruction specifically targeted to boost their standardized test scores. Hollander felt she had no choice. Reading scores on standardized tests in her school had gone up in the years she maintained her reading group, but not consistently enough. “Until recently, given the students’ enthusiasm for the reading groups, I was able to play down that data,” she wrote. “But last year, for the first time since I can remember, our test scores declined in relation to comparable schools in the city. Because I play a leadership role in the English department, I felt increased pressure to bring this year’s scores up. All the teachers are increasing their number of test-preparation sessions and practice tests, so I have done the same, cutting two of my three classic book groups and replacing them with a test preparation tutorial program.” Instead of Steinbeck and Shakespeare, her students read “watered-down news articles or biographies, bastardized novels, memos or brochures.” They studied vocabulary words, drilled on how to write sentences, and practiced taking multiple-choice tests. The overall impact of such instruction, Hollander said, is to “bleed our English classes dry.” So

my hardest so you don't win all the time?” Then see how it goes. If it goes well, over time they will balance the enjoyment of winning—even unfairly—with the enjoyment of a challenging match—even if they lose. You may also need to spend some time directly on the child's feelings about competition. Children will signal that they need special attention to these feelings about winning, losing, and competition by being very upset

According to Dr. Otto Weinenger, author of Time-In Parenting, children up to seven years of age most often don’t know why they are in time-out. They just know that Mommy or Daddy is mad! Even if they know they did something to cause the time-out, they don’t have the self-control developed yet to stop doing it. Dr. Weininger states that most children don’t have the reflective skills required for time-out, that we may think they do, until age seven. Those reflective skills include the big questions of, “What have I done to be here?” “What was my part in the problem?” “What can I do to make things better?” Those are all questions we hope our timed-out children ask themselves, yet often they are just thinking, “I’m so mad at Mom,” “I’m going to get even with my sibling when I get out, and this time I won’t get caught,” “This is so unfair,” and “I hate myself and the whole world.” (Weininger, 2002)

The educational process requires that the parent adhere to the role of a kindly but firm adult. In reacting to a child who violates a limit, the parent must not become argumentative and verbose. The parent must not be drawn into a discussion about the fairness or unfairness of the limit. Neither should the mom or dad give a long explanation for it. It is unnecessary to explain to a child why he must not hit his sister, beyond saying that “people are not for hurting,” or why she must not break the window, beyond saying that “windows are not for breaking.” When

What I have come to see is that my standards weren’t the only standards, maybe not even the best standards, and that measuring him against them was unfair to him, a waste of energy for me, and not necessarily in my mother’s best interests. There is a lesson for you in that.

Dom Manuel, who was troubled in his soul that so many millions of men would suffer eternal punishment, devised a plan which would at least save their children. The plan was unjust; it was unfair, even though it was born out of laudable purposes. He ordered that every child of a Jew who was not beyond the age of fourteen years be taken away from the parents so that, removed from their sight, they be indoctrinated in the Christian religion.

The analogy between infertile heterosexuals and same-sex couples misses the point. The extension of marriage to infertile heterosexual couples serves not to deprecate same-sex couples, but to preserve the equal status of women in marriage. A test for fertility would be unfair to women because all women spend most of their adult lives in a state of infertility. Fertile women are infertile most days of a month, and postmenopausal women are always infertile. A fertility requirement would also render women susceptible to enormous abuse by men, providing a ready excuse for men who would trade in older women for nubile brides. The status of women in marriage would be intolerably diminished through this practice. Infertility is less common among men, as they can sire children into old age. Moreover, men, like women, typically do not discover that they are infertile until they attempt to sire children, at which time they ought already to be married. A measure that serves primarily to protect women and to preserve their equal status within the institution of marriage is not a measure that is an appropriate basis by which to judge that the same should go for same-sex couples. One of the great challenges men and women face in marriage is in coming to terms with their differences while respecting the status of the other as an equal. Acceptance of infertility is a measure promoting this end. A measure to accommodate the reality of sex-based difference in marriage is no reason to extend marriage to same-sex couples. Moreover, accommodation for infertility in no way diminishes the reality that the inequality of the parent-child relationship is what differentiates marriage from other contractual relationships. It is the parent-child relation, as it emerges from sexual difference and procreation, which elevates marriage above a mere contract, and renders it a sacred duty.

First and foremost, I think we must remain calm as parents and try not to lose control of ourselves. For how can we expect our kids to control themselves if we can’t do it? That seems unfair.

Truly, good parenting can be summed up in one sentence: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The Golden Rule (AKA – the second greatest commandment) trumps any parenting theories out there. Do you want someone to be angry at you for your failings, condescend to you in your ignorance, punish you unfairly without a clear understanding of why, speak to you as if you were stupid or unloved, or hit you when you’ve done something to upset them? Do you think those actions would help mold you into a better, more loving person?

One thing both my parents agree on is this: if people are doing something unfair, it's part of our job to remind them what's fair, even if sometimes it still doesn't turn out the way we want it to.

Why young men,” Lily demanded, “and not girls?” Caleb put a hand over hers in a gesture that had become familiar. She knew he wasn’t silencing her, but merely asking her to wait. “I’d be willing to invest in something like that,” he said. Rupert looked embarrassed and chagrined. “I couldn’t take money from you.” “Why not?” Lily wanted to know. She was still ruffled and spoke peevishly. “He must have piles of it, the way he throws it around.” In that instant the tension was broken and both men laughed. “Perhaps I should discuss this with Winola,” Rupert conceded. “I still want to know why it’s going to be a boarding school for boys,” Lily put in. Rupert smiled at her and took her hand. “Lily, dear, so many people don’t believe in educating girls. Boys, now, they have to make their way in the world—” Lily was outraged. “And girls don’t?” she snapped, looking from Caleb to Rupert. Caleb was distinctly uncomfortable, while Rupert wore his prejudices and complacency as easily as a pair of old slippers. “You and Winola are both notable exceptions, of course,” Rupert allowed with a benevolent smile. “Mostly, though, girls just need to be taught to cook and sew and care for children, and they can learn those things right at home.” Caleb closed his eyes as though bracing for an explosion. Lily leapt to her feet, waggling one finger in her brother’s face. “Is that what you’ll want for daughters of your own?” she sputtered. “Nothing but babies, and slaving for some man?” Rupert’s expression was one of kindly bafflement. Obviously Winola’s progressive ideas had not affected him. “It’s what a woman wants—” Lily wouldn’t have begrudged Rupert a penny if it hadn’t been for his narrow and unfair views. “If you give this man money for a school that admits only boys, Caleb Halliday,” she railed, “I’ll make you sleep in the chicken house!” “Sit down,” Caleb said quietly. Lily sat, but grudgingly. “I’ll be happy to give you the money you need,” Caleb told Rupert. Lily favored him with a horrified glare. “You mean you would support such a prejudice?” She was back on her feet again. “Tell me this, Caleb Halliday—do you want your daughters to be ignorant? I can assure you they won’t be, because I will not permit it!” “That,” said Caleb evenly, “is enough. You and I will discuss this later, in private.” Lily’s cheeks were flaming, but she resisted an impulse to storm off to the hotel in high dudgeon because she knew Caleb would not follow or try to assuage her anger in any way. “Yes, Major,” she said sweetly. Caleb narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing. Rupert looked concerned. “I can’t be the cause of trouble between the two of you,” he said. “Winola and I will think of some other solution to the problem.” “You could at least include girls in the classes,” Lily said stiffly. But Rupert shook his head. “Their parents would never permit them to live in such close quarters with young men, Lily,” he reasoned, “and rightly so.” Lily still felt as though her entire gender had been insulted, but she kept silent. Finally,

Tuesday Today my parents took me to the “Drool and Gruel” diner to celebrate my A+ on my Scare exam. “Son, you never stop surprising us,” Dad said. “We talked to your teacher and she said that your reenactment of the Zombie Apocalypse was the best thing she had ever seen. You scared every villager in that town.” “Thanks Dad,” I said as I buried my sorrow in a Drool Shake. “Honey, tell him the surprise,” Mom said. “What surprise?” “Well, son, Ms. Bones was so impressed with your work that she spoke to the Principal. And the Principal agreed to sponsor you for an extra week of camp as a reward. Isn’t that amazing?!!” I threw up my Drool shake. “Look how excited he is, honey. He can’t even keep his Drool shake down,” Mom said. Life is so unfair.

he lost his parents young, younger than I did, and I know what that does to a person. How it shapes you in a way that’s so unfair, that’s beyond your control because you’re too young to even know it’s happening. And there’s this hole that stays with you, this missing piece, because you never get to find out how different you might’ve been if your parents had been there to parent you.

Maddie finally erupted in anger. “Oh, great! We’ll see. The great parental excuse for doing nothing! That’s terrific, Dad! We’ll see.” “Don’t talk to me like that,” Horace told her, although he was conscious of the fact that the phrase we’ll see was a tried and true parental tactic for postponing difficult decisions. “Why not? Will we see what happens to me if I do? What will we see?” She leaned toward him, challenging him, her hands on her hips. Her entire body seemed to quiver with indignation and frustration. “All right. That’s it,” Horace snapped. “You’re confined to your rooms for a week! I’ll put a sentry on the door and you will not leave!” Maddie’s cheeks were flaming with self-righteous anger now. “That is so stupid and petty! I suppose we’ll see how it works out!” she yelled. “Make it two weeks,” Horace said, every bit as angry as she was. She took a breath to reply and he tilted his head to one side. “Planning on trying for three weeks?” She hesitated, then saw the look in his eyes. She turned away and stamped angrily to the door to her own rooms. “This is so unfair!” she shouted, and slammed the door behind her. Horace and Cassandra exchanged a long look. Horace shook his head, defeated, and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “That went well,” he said.

Pessimism for Beginners When you’re waiting for someone to e-mail, When you’re waiting for someone to call – Young or old, gay or straight, male or female – Don’t assume that they’re busy, that’s all. Don’t conclude that their letter went missing Or they must be away for a while; Think instead that they’re cursing and hissing – They’ve decided you’re venal and vile, That your eyes should be pecked by an eagle. Oh, to bash in your head with a stone! But since this is unfairly illegal They’ve no choice but to leave you alone. Be they friend, parent, sibling or lover Or your most stalwart colleague at work, Don’t pursue them. You’ll only discover That your once-irresistible quirk Is no longer appealing. Far from it. Everything that you are and you do Makes them spatter their basin with vomit. They loathe Hitler and herpes and you. Once you take this on board, life gets better. You give no one your hopes to destroy. The most cursory phone call or letter Makes you pickle your heart in pure joy. It’s so different from what you expected! They do not want to gouge out your eyes! You feel neither abused nor rejected What a stunning and perfect surprise. This approach I’m endorsing will net you A small portion of boundless delight. Keep believing the world’s out to get you. Now and then you might not be proved right.

On one particular night, I was determined to get a half-decent night of sleep because I had a big meeting at work the next morning, where I was talking to the school board about the special education program at our school. It was a really, really important meeting, and I didn’t think I could get through it on an hour of sleep. I pumped Emma full of two bottles of milk, hoping she’d conk out, but knowing it was a crapshoot. I told Noah about the meeting and emphasized how important it was. I had to get a decent night of sleep. He swore he understood. So when Emma woke up screaming at two in the morning, I expected him to get up with her. “I’ve got a headache, Claire,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Can’t you get her?” I had a headache too. I had a headache almost all the time these days, as well as big purple circles under my eyes. Skipping out on my parental duties was never an option. “You know I have a big meeting tomorrow.” Noah squeezed his eyes shut. After a long minute of Emma’s cries increasing in volume, he got out of bed. And slammed the door shut behind him when he left the bedroom. Just as the cries subsided and I started to drift off again, the screams abruptly started again. A few seconds later, Noah came back into the bedroom. He flopped down on the bed and covered his head with the pillow. “I can’t deal with her,” he said. “You have to do it.” “But I told you, I have a meeting tomorrow!” “Well, I have a headache. I’m not getting up.” And that was it, as far as he was concerned. He acted like Emma was my baby, he was doing me a favor by trying to help, but if he didn’t want to do it, he didn’t have to. I remember staring at him in the dark bedroom, waiting to see if he would change his mind. He didn’t budge. I had to get up and spend the rest of the night comforting Emma. He never apologized for that one. Even though I was a wreck at my meeting the next day, and he ended up sleeping in after I dropped Emma and Aidan off at daycare. It was so incredibly unfair. After that, it seemed like we were at war more and more frequently. He never carried his weight when it came to the children and the housework, and what’s worse, he didn’t care. He told me all I did was nag him. We stopped doing things together as a family—I preferred to go out with the kids myself so I didn’t have to watch him play with his phone instead of talking to me. And we never did anything together as a couple. I can’t remember our last date night. For a while, we were making an effort to get a babysitter and go out, but I can’t remember the last time either of us even suggested it. I kept telling myself things would get better as the kids got older. But now they’re older. And it turned out, our marriage got too broken to fix.

crash that killed your parents or who murdered your best friend. It’s hard and it hurts and it’s so unfair that sometimes it makes Charlie want to scream. But it’s life, and everyone must go on living it.

Some white teachers are nervous about sharing critical feedback about a black student’s performance with the student’s parents for fear that they may be accused of racial bias. But honest feedback is necessary for improvement, and to deny the child and the parents the opportunity to learn from it is unfair. What if the child does need special assistance? Tension could be defused if the teacher began by acknowledging the problem that improper and unnecessary special education referrals are all too common for black children and it would not surprise her if the parents were wary of her recommendation. After acknowledging the validity of their concerns about labeling and the low expectations too often projected onto black children, the teacher could present concrete evidence and examples of the student’s difficulties to his parents. Wary parents may feel that the teacher who has acknowledged the possibility of parental distrust will listen respectfully to their perspective. If you are accused of racial bias, do not take it personally. Rather than reacting in a defensive manner, acknowledge the possibility that your judgment may be biased and ask for more information from the parent’s perspective. It is hard to grow up in a race-conscious society without being influenced by stereotypes. “There’s not a prejudiced bone in my body!” is a familiar refrain; such categorical denials only reinforce suspicion on the part of black parents who view them as naive at best. How much more effective it would be to ask sincerely, “Help me understand what I did that made you think so.” An invitation to enter into dialogue rather than a rush to defend oneself goes a long way in cultivating trust even in the midst of a difficult interaction.

...and her parents had given her the twice as good for half the credit lecture, when she wanted, just once, for someone to tell her that she was already good enough and it wasn't all right if the world wasn't fair enough to reward it, wanted someone to acknowledge that even this trivial thing was allowed to hurt, and that particularity of the unfairness had a name.

It Is Well At times when you are unwell As you almost drown in a pool of tears Walk away from any distress And choose to say, ‘It is well.’ When life becomes so hard And the pain you face becomes too sharp When your days feel like cold nights Be the one to say, ‘It is well.’ When you wonder which way to take And you are unsure how you will get there When you go through myriad tests Trust the Lord and say, ‘It is well.’ When everything seems unfair And people begin to doubt the God you serve When you go through things you do not deserve Learn to say, ‘It is well.’ Things will not always go your way Because it is the Lord’s will that prevails That is why in every circumstance You should pray and say, ‘It is well.

When you apologize to your children, you are teaching them to trust their feelings and perceptions. You are saying, “The things I did that you thought were unfair were unfair. You were right to feel that way.

You looked into things too deeply, and you noticed things that not many others could see, and this exasperated your parents and teachers. They said, “You need to have thicker skin!” That would have been excellent, but you couldn’t go buy thicker skin at the five-and-dime. Any healthy half-awake person is occasionally going to be pierced with a sense of the unfairness and the catastrophe of life for ninety-five percent of the people on this earth.

There are many perpetrators who seem to have a sixth sense for identifying people who have lost the ability to protest and blame unfairness. If we do not register a “negative” feeling response to hurtfulness, we cannot tell that we are being abused. Instead we tacitly “forgive” our abusers just as we were forced to tacitly forgive our parents, no matter how much ongoing abuse they dish out. This is why psychoanalyst Judith Viorst says:

Once you realize which feelings lie beneath your anger, spend a minute to realize how unfair it was for you to have been treated in that way when you were a child. But you will be a happier person, and a better parent, if you can forgive those who caused you pain. Make your peace … let go of the past … savor the present.

I feel a pang of sadness and wish there was a way for her to be here too. It seems so unfair that she works every day and we still have nothing, while Omar and Aaron have all this, and I've never seen their parents work.

Do you ever feel how unfair life can get for someone? Do you ever feel how someone feels when they are born into a poor family? When someone finds out that they have to work in a job like being a waiter/ waitress in a hotel at the age of 20 years or a office boy or office girl in an organisation? They did not have the education that you were privileged to have because you were born to parents who were smarter than the common man or woman of that time. What kind of a world are we giving to everyone? Why is this world so unfair to most people?

I still feel that like every family, our family should be given the same consideration when dealing with personal issues and trauma. There’s not a person alive who wants their struggles to be reported in the news, followed up with commentary and judgments from their own family. It’s unfair to assume that Britney’s fame excludes her from her right to privacy or that of her family. But privacy hasn’t been afforded to any of us, and my parents’ determination to keep Britney free from embarrassment and public humiliation may have come at a high cost that wasn’t in her best interest.

Why do parents do this? Often, they envy their children’s childhoods—the opportunities they have; the financial or emotional stability that the parents provide; the fact that their children have their whole lives ahead of them, a stretch of time that’s now in the parents’ pasts. They strive to give their children all the things they themselves didn’t have, but they sometimes end up, without even realizing it, resenting the kids for their good fortune. Rita envied her kids their siblings, their comfortable childhood home with the pool, their opportunities to go to museums and travel. She envied their young, energetic parents. And it was, in part, her unconscious envy—her fury at the unfairness of it all—that kept her from allowing them to have the happy childhood she didn’t, that kept her from saving them in the way she so badly wanted to be saved when she was young.

It feels unfair. But my parents were older when they had me. You know, the last remnants of a postwar generation, brought up to value sacrifice, discipline, and duty.

There was always an unspoken expectation that I would return one day and follow in my father's footsteps as an imperial guard. My mother grew ill, forcing my father into early retirement. I did my duty." "That seems unfair." He huffs out a breath. "It feels unfair. But my parents were older when they had me. You know, the last remnants of a postwar generation, brought up to value sacrifice, discipline, and duty." "Whoa. Gimu. Peak Japanese." Japanese language is subtly nuanced. There is a myriad of words to describe duty, and among them is the gimu----a lifelong obligation to family or country.

So much of a parent’s identity was wrapped up in the child: love, pride, self-worth, validation. It was an unfair burden on a small human being, but every child bore it, the lofty, seemingly unreachable expectations of her parents.

Would you believe when my parents went to uni it was free? Injustice stalks my generation, I swear to God.

Externalizers feel that competent people owe them help and tend to believe that good things have come to other people rather unfairly.

I want you to know that that isn’t a normal parental response. It’s unkind and unfair. You deserve, and deserved, better from your parents. You were born to two broken people, and that’s part of why you’re here.

One of the commonest false conclusions is this: because someone is true and honest towards us, he speaks the truth. Thus a child believes in the judgements of its parents, the Christian in the assertions of the founder of the Church. There is likewise a disinclination to admit that all that which men have defended in earlier centuries with sacrifice of happiness and life were nothing but errors: perhaps one says they were stages of truth. But what one thinks at bottom is that, if someone has honestly believed in something and has fought and died for his belief, it would be altogether too unfair if what had inspired him had actually been no more than an error. Such an event seems to go against eternal justice; which is why the heart of sensitive people again and again contradicts their head, and decrees: there absolutely must exist a necessary connection between moral action and intellectual insight. Unhappily it is otherwise; for there is no such thing as eternal justice.

Grinker interviewed them each personally and repeatedly over two years, and gradually assembled a detailed list of ingredients that make for mental health. THE STUDENTS at George Williams College had been active in their local YMCA, and their connections to that organization, their church, and their communities were long and deep. “Uncertainty about the future is minimal,” Grinker noted, among these “upright young men.” They came from white- and blue-collar families in the Midwest. They had slightly above average IQs, average college grades (mostly C’s), and no childhood or adolescent conflicts with their families. Two-thirds said they had been disciplined firmly by their parents, with well-established boundaries for conduct, but they saw these constraints as beneficial and reasonable. Except for four people with abnormal mood states (two with hypomania and two with depression), two stutterers, two people who displayed paranoid thinking, and one person with recurrent nightmares, the great majority (85 percent) lacked even the mildest mental abnormality. Grinker noted that though the subjects enjoyed team sports in high school, “only sometimes did one claim to be the leader of a social, work, or sport group.” These men were better designed to be followers than leaders: “The average subject has had practically no trouble with those in authority” and even “maintains that he would abide by rules which he considered to be unfair.” Overall there is a “picture of an individual who would be submissive to authority, but not slavishly.” Searching for a term less loaded than “normal” to describe these people, Grinker called them homoclites, a Latinate term he invented to indicate “those who follow a common rule.

Learn That Your Feelings Are as Important as Theirs. Some of us can’t see our own feelings because we have learned somewhere along the way that other people’s feelings are more important than ours. For example, it was always assumed that your father would move in with your family when his health began to fail. But now that he has, his constant demands and crankiness are beginning to take a toll, especially on top of managing his medications and frequent doctor’s visits. You are exhausted and frustrated, and wonder why your brother isn’t willing to do his share. Yet you don’t raise it with parent or sibling. “It’s hard, but it’s not that hard,” you reason. “Besides, I don’t want to rock the boat.” Your girlfriend calls and says she can’t have dinner on Friday after all. She’s wondering whether Saturday is okay. She says a friend of hers is in town and wants to see a movie on Friday. You say, “Sure, if that’s better for you.” Although you said yes, Saturday is actually not as good for you, because you had planned to go to a baseball game. Still, you’d rather see your girlfriend, so you give your ticket away. In each of these situations, you’ve chosen to put someone else’s feelings ahead of your own. Does this make sense? Is your father’s frustration or your brother’s peace of mind more important than yours? Is your girlfriend’s desire to see a movie with her friend more important than your desire to see a baseball game? Why is it that they express their feelings and preferences, but you cope with yours privately? There are several reasons why you may choose to honor others’ feelings even when it means dishonoring your own. The implicit rule you are following is that you should put other people’s happiness before your own. If your friends or loved ones or colleagues don’t get their way, they’ll feel bad, and then you’ll have to deal with the consequences. That may be true, but it’s unfair to you. Their anger is no better or worse than yours. “Well, it’s just easier not to rock the boat,” you think. “I don’t like it when they’re mad at me.” If you’re thinking this, then you are undervaluing your own feelings and interests. Friends, neighbors, and bosses will recognize this and begin to see you as someone they can manipulate. When you are more concerned about others’ feelings than your own, you teach others to ignore your feelings too. And beware: one of the reasons you haven’t raised the issue is that you don’t want to jeopardize the relationship. Yet by not raising it, the resentment you feel will grow and slowly erode the relationship anyway.

Annabelle bit back a snort. Small village girls talked about knights and princes. Then again, for a girl like Hattie, knights and princes weren’t just creatures from a fairy tale, they came to dine with her parents in St. James. And if one of them married Hattie, he would shelter and indulge her, because at the end of the day, he would have to answer to Julien Greenfield. Even she might consider marriage under such circumstances—being well treated, with an army of staff at her command to look after the household. As it was, soulmate or not, marriage would mean an endless cycle of scrubbing, mending, and grafting for a whole family, with the added obligation of letting a man use her body for his pleasure.... What would be worse? Sharing a bed with a man she didn’t care for, or with one who had the power to grind her heart into the dirt?

We need to understand exactly how appalling parenting created the now self-perpetuating trauma that we live in. We can learn to do this in a way that takes the mountain of unfair self-blame off ourselves.

Both Rabih and Kirsten have learned how to reassure the anxious child selves concealed within their adult partners. That’s why they love each other. But they have in the process also unknowingly inherited a little of that dangerous, unfair, beautifully naive trust which little children place in their parents. Some primitive part of the grown-up Rabih and Kirsten insists that the beloved must control far more of the world than any human being in an adult relationship possibly could, which is what generates such anger and frustration when problems nevertheless arise.

Poison is for weaklings, they say. The English poet Phineas Fletcher (1582-1650) may have been the first to coin the term “coward's weapon,” but the opinion has not dissipated in the centuries since; even a character in George R. R. Martin’s Game of Thrones recently sniped that poison was a gutless way to kill. Poison is sneaky, it’s slow, and you can poison someone without spilling a drop of their blood or awkwardly making eye contact with them midimpalement. As such, it doesn’t get a lot of cred for being scary. Poisoners simply don’t terrify people the way, say, disembowlers do. But that’s unfair, because poisoning requires advance planning and the stomach for a drawn-out death scene. You need to look into your victim’s trusting eyes day after day as you slowly snuff out their life. You have to play the role of nurse or parent or lover while you sustain your murderous intent at a pitch that would be unbearable for many of those who’ve shot a gun or swung a sword. You’ve got to mop up your victim’s vomit and act sympathetic when they beg for water. While they scream that their insides are on fire, you must steel yourself against the dreadful sight of encroaching death and give them another sip of the fatal drink. A coward’s weapon? Not so much. Poison is the weapon of the emotionless, the sociopathic, and the truly cruel.

It is easy to blame your lot in life on some outside force, to stop trying because you believe fate is against you. It is easy to think that where you were raised, how your parents treated you, or what school you went to is all that determines your future. Nothing could be further from the truth. The common people and the great men and women are all defined by how they deal with life’s unfairness

Before I can say anything, the door to my parents’ apartment bursts open. My little sister darts out, and she dashes down the concrete stairs. “Tina, Tina!” She cannons into me; I grab hold of her. We squeeze each other hard. She’s getting so big now—she’s just an inch shorter than I am—and she hugs my breath out. “Stop,” I croak. “Mayday, mayday!” “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you tell Mom that I am too old enough to go to a coed sleepover?” I give her a once over. “Sure,” I say, “as long as the parents kick it off by caponizing all the boys.” Beside me, Blake chokes. “What’s caponizing?” “Removing the testicles,” I say. “It improves the temperament of the male animal. Try it sometime.” Blake clears his throat. “Oh,” I say. “Mayday, this is Blake Rivers.” We’ve agreed—and by we’ve agreed I mean I’ve insisted—that we won’t give his real name. No point opening that door. Mom is bad enough when she thinks he doesn’t have any money. I can’t imagine what it would be like if she knew the truth. “Blake, this is my little sister. Her name is Mabel, but I call her anything that starts with an M. Mayday, Maple, and Muggle are my favorites.” She wrinkles her nose at Blake. “You can call me Mabel.” Mabel purses her lips and looks at Blake. Blake looks at her right back. Some people say that Mabel and I look alike, and I guess we do, in the most superficial sense. We’re both Chinese. But Mabel’s hair is short and dyed blue, and she wears it pulled over her eyes. Her eyes are set more narrowly than mine. And—this is really unfair, but I swear I am not bitter about this—she is thirteen and she’s already in B-cups. Which, ahem. Is more than I will ever manage. Mabel shrugs. “Hi Blake. You’re the guy who is definitely not Tina’s boyfriend.” Blake shifts the shoulder strap of his bag. “One of many, I presume.” “Nope.” Mabel twirls away. “You’re the only one. The rest of the boys aren’t dating her.” “Oh, well,” Blake says vaguely. “That is an important distinction.” I try to jab my elbow into his side, but he sidles away. “And you’re the only she talks about like this: ‘Mom, he’s not my boyfriend.’” Oh, that imitation. It’s just a little too spot on. I raise a finger at her, but she twirls away before I can get her back. “Come on. Mom is cooking. This is the first time you’ve brought a boyfriend home from college.” “He’s not my—” I stop, because my sister’s lips are twitching. “Fine.” I pick up my own bag. “Lay on, Macduff,” Blake says. Mabel stops and turns to him. “Hey. Only Tina can call me M-words other than Mabel.” “Sorry.” “Tina and her boyfriend,” she corrects. “So you’re okay.

Concentrate on the reason your child is angry, not on the way he is expressing it. Seek to understand what he thinks is unfair or wrong. You may not agree with his perception, but the purpose is to hear him out. If he thinks he was wronged, the anger will not go away until he feels that you have heard and understood his complaint. You are the parent, and you have the final word on what will be done, but your child needs to know that you think his feelings and ideas are important. Don’t let the child’s method of delivering his message keep you from getting the message.

threat is born of small beginnings, as big threats so often are. It starts with toxic personal narratives wrapped in the cheap cloth of victimhood, always looking to an external culprit to blame for real or perceived injustices. At first, this blame is assigned to an individual—your unfair boss, your neglectful parent, a teacher who refused to see your potential, or just perpetual bad luck. But this isn’t enough for the outrage enthusiast. There must be more culprits. More oppressors to be blamed for your misfortune.

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In a family with an externalizing sibling, the parents’ attitude is often to silence any complaints of unfairness by the internalizer, telling the child to try to get along or to understand the sibling’s problem. For the parent, nothing is worth getting a kid who externalizes upset. The message to internalizers is that they should put their needs on a back burner and instead focus on what the externalizer needs.

You think that kid who starved didn't want to eat? You think her parents didn't want to escape the ravages of war badly enough? You think if they'd had more Passion, the cosmere would have saved them? How convenient to believe that people are poor because they didn't care enough about being rich. That they just didn't pray hard enough. So convenient to make suffering their own fault, rather than life being unfair and birth mattering more than aptitude. Or storming Passion.

you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents usually allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It’s that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I’m waiting for the crash.

I learned very quickly who was safe to confide in. Which friends would judge, flee, insist on calling my parents or the police. Which would listen, tell me they loved me, let me crash on their couch, without getting me in trouble. Maybe it's unfair—to sometimes need someone to confide in while also needing that person to take no drastic action in response to that confidence. But, again and again, that's where I found myself.

When she was young, she thought he was old, and now that he was old, Alice realized how young he’d been. Perspective was unfair.

Ego”, contrary to popular usage, is not a dirty word. In psychology, the term ego represents what we typically mean when we use terms like my “self” or my identity. The healthy ego is the user friendly manager of the psyche. Unfortunately, Cptsd-inducing parents thwart the growth of the ego by undermining the development of the crucial egoic processes of self-compassion and self-protection. They do this by shaming or intimidating you whenever you have a natural impulse to have sympathy for yourself, or stand up for yourself. The instinct to care for yourself and to protect yourself against unfairness is then forced to become dormant.

A page torn out of a magazine had been slotted in beneath the cover. It was a black and white photograph, a still from Steven Spielberg’s 1993 film Schindler’s List. It showed the actor Ben Kingsley sitting at a desk, typing. I turned to James Taylor. ‘What’s this doing here?’ I asked. He answered as if it was obvious. ‘That’s Atticus Pünd,’ he said. It made sense. ‘His eyes, behind the round wire-framed glasses, examined the doctor with endless benevolence. It had often been remarked that Atticus Pünd looked like an accountant and in his general demeanour—which was both timid and meticulous—he behaved like one too.’ Alan Conway had borrowed, or perhaps stolen, his detective from a film that had been released ten or so years before he had written the first book. This might be where the link with the concentration camps, which I had thought so clever, had begun. For some reason, I was deflated. It was disappointing to find out that Atticus Pünd was not an entirely original creation; that he was in some way second-hand. Perhaps I was being unfair. After all, every character in fiction has to begin somewhere. Charles Dickens used his neighbours, his friends, even his parents as inspiration. Edward Rochester, my favourite character in Jane Eyre, was based on a Frenchman called Constantin Héger, with whom Brontë was in love. But tearing an actor out of a magazine was different somehow. It felt like cheating.

Emilio F. Iodice Quotes Quotes from Emilio F. Iodice USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, award-winning writer, US Presidential Historian, University Professor and Public Speaker Children “Children are pieces of our heart.” “My children and grandchildren are my most important achievements. Their love is more precious than anything else.” Courage “Courage does not come overnight. It comes from experience.” “Mistakes and success are the elements that give us enough self-confidence to be courageous.” “Fear is natural. Yet it is often used as an excuse to not be courageous.” Death “I am afraid of dying before I have a chance to finish what I feel is important to leave behind and show those I love how much I care for them.” “I have lost friends and loved ones. It is painful and depressing. What is the saving grace: perhaps for them it was the best time to journey to the other side even though for us, who miss them, it was not.” “To die a peaceful death is a blessing and an art. God blesses us to pass on to the next world tranquilly. The art is to live a full life so when our time comes, we go without remorse and can say we did our best and leave behind the best possible memories to those who love us.” Decisions “Facts are our friends.” “Never make emotional decisions.” “Decide on facts and figures.” “Search for the truth and base your choices on a foundation of logic, honesty, and short, medium, and long-term goals.” “Leaders who strategize should look at all the possibilities of failure before deciding a course of action.” Democracy “Democracy is our only choice. Individual and collective freedom allows the mind to travel across new horizons to search for solutions to problems created by humans and nature.” “Democratic nations do not go to war against each other. Freedom loving people are attacked by tyrannical regimes which seek domination and conquest.” Example “We live in fishbowls. What we do, how we do it, what we say is part of the example we set. Good example is the key to making a better world because it begins with those close to us and spreads to others.” Family “Family is success. It is the refuge and safe port when life becomes tragic, unfair, and insecure.” “To build a stable, good, and loving family is difficult. It requires sacrifice, immense patience, success and failure, constant long-range thinking, mutual goals, honesty and fidelity, endless respect and most of all, love. It is very hard to achieve but worth it.” “I loved my parents. They were simple, not highly educated but gave me guidance and love as best they could. That is all I could ask of them and wish for.” “My mother was kind, sweet, very strong and wise. She loved me and I did all I could to show my love for her even though for me it was never enough.” “My father was strong, tough, imperious but fair, courageous, and just. He was never afraid. He wanted his children and grand children to achieve more than he did which is why he came to America.” “I was fortunate to be born in the New World. It allowed me to use my talents and be who I am today, with all my weaknesses and ideals.” Forgiveness “I forgive those who hurt me and betray me. I do it by forgetting. It is not easy, but it is worth trying. I do not want to carry the burden of hate besides everything else.” “Someone said, ‘Always forgive your enemies but never forget their names.’ I believe this because life is not fair, and people are not always honest or just. It is a matter of self-preservation and protecting those we love.” God “God is my co-pilot. We are born alone and die alone. We should not go through life alone but with the Lord as our guide, friend, and shepherd.” “Faith, spirituality, and religion are personal and free choices to make. We grow up in a religion but eventually create our own ladder to the Almighty if we believe one exists.” “Each of us has the right to believe or not.” Gratitude

By the time I reached the Invalides the rain has stopped. Instead of taking the shortest route home, I had made a wide detour west. The lights gleamed brighter than ever as night came down. There were yellow streaks low in the sky. I skirted the little park and saw old soldiers, survivors of wars lovingly recalled by Cousin Gaston and Papa, sitting on damp benches. They lived in the veterans' hospital nearby and had nothing else to do. I turned the corner and started down toward the Seine, walking slowly. I still had a considerable distance to cover, but it seemed unfair to arrive home before Arnaud; that was why I had gone so far out of my way. My parents could think whatever they liked: that he had taken a later train, that I had got wet finding a taxi. I would never tell anyone how I had travelled with Arnaud, not even Arnaud. It was a small secret, insignificant, but it belonged to the true life that was almost ready to let me in. And so it did; and, yes, it made me happy.

We never had much growing up. I can remember my parents at the kitchen table, sorting through the bills, so stressed. It seemed unfair since they worked so hard. They always figured it out, but I didn’t want that for myself. I didn’t want to be devastated by a car repair.

A home where parents were strong, capable figures who didn’t break and shatter with great tragedy and instead knew love and laughter despite all life’s unfair challenges.

I also observed that—having felt so rejected and unloved by her parents—the rejection of her daughter must feel much more unfair.

Common Narcissistic Phrases (Parent) “I sacrificed everything for you” “You owe me for all I’ve done for you” “You’re so ungrateful” “I’m the best parent you could ever have” “You’ll never find someone who loves you as much as me” “You’re just like “ (negative comparison in the family) “I know what’s best for you” “You’re the reason for my stress” “Why can’t you be more like your sibling?” “You’ll never survive on your own” “I did it for your own good” “I’m the only one who will ever understand you” When Your Mother Is a Narcissist Being raised by a narcissistic mother means that she was emotionally immature. She was either explosive or forgot you were there until she needed something. Maybe you didn’t get attention for doing well because that’s what was expected. However, the moment you were less than perfect, her mask would come off. You grew up being unfairly compared to your siblings or even your cousins outside the home. You grew up with a lack of privacy. In your childhood home, it was ALWAYS about mom. Her mood set the tone for the entire household. If mom wasn’t happy, nobody was happy.