Three-year-old Yisroel is closest in age to his older sister, Shira. So, it
was natural that he should feel the greatest affinity towards her, learn from
her and mimic just about everything she did. Shira is his natural playmate-and,
therefore, the one with whom he also fights the most.
So when Shira went to stay over at a classmate's home one day, Yisroel was
devastated. Throughout the day, he paced the toy room and wondered aloud how
long it would be until Shira's return. Several times he complained how lonely,
bored and upset he was feeling without her.
"Mommy, when is Shira finally coming home?" Yisroel whined for the fifth time
that hour. "Why did you let her go away for s-u-c-h a long, long time?" he asked
over and over. After all, to his three-year-old self, a whole day was an
eternity.
"Yisroel, I can see how much you are missing Shira," I empathized. "But, why,
then, is it that when Shira is at home, you sometimes fight with her and you
don't play so nicely?" I questioned gently, hoping to at least develop this into
a learning experience for him.
"Mommy, you see, it is like this," Yisroel paused from his activity, and his
facial expressions suddenly became thoughtful and mature. "I love Shira very
much. So I miss her when she is gone. But sometimes, when I am playing with her,
I fight.
"That's because," he continued simply, "I forget just how much I love her!"
Those whom we love and interact with the most, we often argue or disagree
with the most.
A pause can make us reflect how meaningful the other is to us.
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