This Father's Day, Sibling Conflicts Teach Life Lessons

        By T. Evan Schaeffer

        My daughter is being terrorized by my son.

        She's 6.  He's 3. 

        Even at twice his size, my daughter doesn't stand a chance against this walking Y-chromosome who answers only to names like Big Guy or Monster Man, but only if you say it with the proper tone of reverence, like you're addressing one of the ancient pharaohs of Egypt.

        "Leave me alone," my daughter tells him, trying to get past into the kitchen.

        But that's not the proper tone.  So as she passes, he kicks her in the shin or swats her on the back or pulls her hair.  Then she begins to wail like the world is ending, and he backs up and watches from a safe distance.

        His expression is quizzical, innocent, concerned.  His sister has fallen prey to some odd disease, and he doesn't want to risk being infected. 

        Once in awhile, she tries to stand her ground.  "You can't hurt me," she tells him bravely.  But once he squeezes that tiny hand into a tiny fist and cocks back his tiny arm, it's all over.

        "Daddy, he's going to hit me!" she cries.  She knows from past experience that his little arm packs a mighty wallop.

        As her father, I suppose I should lend a hand--for example, by taking away the broom that he uses to chase her with around the house, or by apprehending the Tinker Toys that he shapes into multi-colored weapons of mass destruction. 

        But the truth is, I'm a little afraid of him myself. 

        What do I know about raising children--or more properly, taming savage beasts?  Sure, I powwow with my wife, read the paperbacks written by the child-care wizards, consult with other young parents at the YMCA.  

        But so far, no answers.

        Do I tell my daughter the truth: that if she would just rear back and smack her brother a few times in the face, she wouldn't have to worry about him ever again?

        Somehow, this doesn't seem like appropriate advice coming from a right-thinking, peace-loving father who is concerned about his status in the community.

        I suppose I could try to tame my son – with strict discipline, perhaps, or bribery.  But I don't want to risk the psychic damage that cutting him off from his storehouse of energy might entail.

        After all, isn't a little masculine bravado a good thing?   There are people at work, for example, who act a lot like my son.  I call them "Boss."  They don't chase anyone with brooms or make fists, but they do demand that you treat them like the ancient pharaohs of Egypt. 

        No, I don't want to get in the way of my son's climb to the top.  On this Father's Day, I'll let the kids work things out for themselves.  There are lessons to learn for both of them:  for my son, how to get ahead without being a brute, and for my daughter, how to put up with the brutes who get ahead.

        Still, as my son chases my daughter through the kitchen, into the living room and over the sofa, I'm regretting that there is no obedience school for 3-year-olds, like there is for dogs.

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