The Land Rovers we were in had both open windows and removable sunroofs, from which we often stood to get the best view. In this case, we watched the unfolding drama of the lioness eating her first meal in a week, her sulking male mate of the previous 7 days sulking in the distance, and her pride still hoping for a loose piece of meat. Our guide put us almost literally in the middle of the pride and this extraordinary drama.
As I stood up, through the sunroof, to shoot more of the eventual 2,200 photos I ended up taking, a gust of wind caught my safari hat and blew it adjacent to the front wheel of our Land Rover. I loved that hat so, I immediately asked the guide if I could quickly go out and retrieve it. Mortified, he said an emphatic no. I asked if we could just move forward a few feet and, maybe, I could reach down for it. The answer remained the same staunch refusal.
So, we watched, and I sulked. Moments later, a lion cub gingerly came right next to the vehicle and took my precious hat in its jaws. Almost instantly, the cubs had a new game; tug-of-war and keep-away. We watched, in sidesplitting, painful laughter, as my hat flew from cub to cub, at times the only thing visible flying above the high grass. This was counter-pointed by the savage sounds of the hungry lioness, ripping apart her meal, her lazy mate milling about doing nothing, and was a sober reminder that animals in the wild are just that, wild.
Now, I suppose you’re going to say this is a reach, as I work to tie in stories from my wonderful African adventure with parenting. But, indulge me anyway. This tug-of-war is the quintessential struggle between siblings of all species. Especially my boys, GuitarHero (my 15-year old) and Jughead (my 12-year-old). I will ultimately devote a specific column to sibling rivalry, but this one will focus on the insidious way in which my boys, as so many others given this is such an ubiquitous situation, play one parent against the other. In our case, even their new step-mom, who you might think wouldn’t have the same cache as their good ol’ dad.
But, play us against one another they do. With canny manipulation and subtlety. We, being the naïve ones, often believe them when they say, “Oh, Dad said it was okay,” or “Short-Rib (my wife) was fine with it.” Yeah, and we also believe in the tooth fairy and the stock and real estate markets recovering at the end of this year. Wishful thinking, for sure. But, parents want to be loved just as much as their children, so we often just can’t see straight when it’s out own kids while we’re experts with our friend’s children.
GuitarHero is the best as he mostly ignores Short-Rib, except when he’s not getting satisfaction from me. By now, she’s wise to it, but can’t help, in the new role of step-mom, thinking at first that he’s really reaching out and wanting a connection. It’s like when he used to say, “Dad, I really want you to hear this new song,” when I’m taking him to or from school, and I actually believed he cared about my opinion vs. was just using that flattery to get me to play his music, which quickly went on to other unintelligible death or metal rock garbage. Why are we, who are the closest, almost always the most oblivious?
We’ve discovered, finally, the obvious. Compare notes. Stay on the same page. Back one another. But, often, in the moment we forget. And, we must make sure out boys know when we’ve caught them playing this game. Oh, the many wiles of children. Will I ever learn? Or will I just write about it and smugly watch others make the same mistake, sitting back and judging them while the rooster crows at home. I’ll probably have it down, maybe, by the time they’re living on their own and I’m fortunate enough to hopefully have grandchildren.Please visit www.brucesallan.com to contact Bruce and to enjoy the various features his new Web site offers, including a unique Ask Bruce For Advice section, an archive of his columns, contact info, links to his published work, photo galleries, and reader comments, plus much more. Bruce Sallan was an award-winning television executive and producer for 25 years. Google him if you really want to know more (e.g. his credits). When his boys were quite young, Bruce left show biz to become a full-time Dad. Shortly thereafter his marriage ended and his wife abandoned their children, leaving the State. Bruce found himself a full-time single Dad, in his late forties, as well as a returning single man to the changed world of cyber-dating. It became a classic “sandwich” situation when he also began to care for his ailing parents. He began writing various blogs on the dating sites he used as well as articles for local publications. The goal of his column, A Dad’s Point-of-View, is to primarily focus on parenting and occasionally other issues from the male perspective. Presently, his column is available in over 50 newspapers and Web sites in the U.S. and internationally. Bruce lives in Agoura, California with his second (and last) wife and two boys, who are 15 and 12.