I can’t begin to describe the awesomeness contained within these two blog posts.
First up, Eric Hague writes an ingenious post entitled Our Daughter Isn’t a Selfish Brat; Your Son Just Hasn’t Read Atlas Shrugged.:
I’d like to start by saying that I don’t get into belligerent shouting matches at the playground very often. The Tot Lot, by its very nature, can be an extremely volatile place—a veritable powder keg of different and sometimes contradictory parenting styles—and this fact alone is usually enough to keep everyone, parents and tots alike, acting as courteous and deferential as possible. The argument we had earlier today didn’t need to happen, and I want you to know, above all else, that I’m deeply sorry that things got so wildly, publicly out of hand.
Now let me explain why your son was wrong.
When little Aiden toddled up our daughter Johanna and asked to play with her Elmo ball, he was, admittedly, very sweet and polite. I think his exact words were, “Have a ball, peas [sic]?” And I’m sure you were very proud of him for using his manners.
To be sure, I was equally proud when Johanna yelled, “No! Looter!” right in his looter face, and then only marginally less proud when she sort of shoved him.
The thing is, in this family we take the philosophies of Ayn Rand seriously.
That post in, and of itself, was enough to make me warm and fuzzy inside. But then Lex came in with something even better:
Aidan can’t make a living in the marketplace, so he gets a nice, safe job with the Ball Redistribution Agency. And when he finally wanders over to Johanna and asks for a ball, he doesn’t say, “Have a ball, peas?” he says, “I’ll be taking those balls, missus.” On on either flank, he will have a couple of bigger kids with sticks, thumping them in their palms menacingly.
Johanna was a clever kid, and she saw this coming some weeks before. She has stashed a supply of balls in the Caymans, and when Aidan comes and takes all her balls but one, she picks up that ball and goes to her new home in the islands. Her workers are thrown out on the streets, her factory is shuttered, the board loses access to the taxes their output and wages once yielded and is forced to take care of the laid off workers, spending money that the board doesn’t have. The kids in the playground see all this and grow restless.
Now running at a significant deficit relative to predictions, the board turns its eyes to the Frisbee maker.