Thirty-something speaks
The argument for kids
Mike Maddock

Is the need to argue a genetic necessity? I'm starting to wonder, because my two daughters seem to need to argue as much as they need to breathe. I guess some of us grow away from that need while others of us become famous talk show hosts and make truckloads of money. Arguing can be quite lucrative...just ask the lawyers and politicians. As for me, arguing wears me out, and I quit doing it when I started losing to five-year-olds.

I can remember some pretty heated discussions when I was a kid and thoroughly convinced in a game of War I had shot my neighbor Brian Stubbs with my stick well before he even had the chance to see me coming. Of course, that didn't stop him from screaming back at me that he had actually gotten me 30 minutes ago when I was running across the Saunders' yard. Our war games almost always ended that way.

The best part about being a kid in an argument is that logic is completely unnecessary, and resolutions are rare. To kids, resolution just means their attention has been taken somewhere else. An ice cream truck, a puppy, or even a good song on the radio can banish the most heated discussions into oblivion. One minute they're red in the face screaming how Barbie needs her red dress - not the blue one - and the next minute Barbie is lying in a heap on the floor with 15 other forgotten toys.

The other day my daughters, ages eight and six, were at each other's throats about a necklace. This necklace belonged to my youngest daughter and had been sitting on our kitchen counter for about a week. No one had bothered with it or touched it during that time. In fact, I had picked it up off the floor just as our dog was about to turn it into a chew toy.

This day my oldest daughter decided to pick the necklace up and fiddle with it sending my other daughter into a rage. Apparently, the plastic bead necklace was a gift to my youngest daughter and was now the most important thing on the face of the earth.

After a brief struggle, my eldest gave in and gave the necklace back, but when she did, my youngest discovered the necklace was now broken. Of course she immediately accused her sister of breaking it, and as usual, her sister denied it.

So began a monumental free-for-all on whether my oldest child had broken the necklace in question. It did not matter the necklace was almost a chew toy, and that for the past month it had garnered just about as much attention as a piece of broccoli next to a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, somebody was going down.

Unfortunately, it was me. I made the mistake of intervening. I knew better, but I did it anyway. I joined the yelling and nearly popped a blood vessel in my forehead. Just as I was about to end the madness with a crushing blow of logic based on my years of experience and wealth of knowledge, they moved on to something else. While I was foaming at the mouth, they had turned on the stereo and started dancing.

And where was that necklace? The dog had it and was trotting off to hide it with his bone and rope toy.