Sandbox Rules

How to be a Good Example: Why two wrongs do make a right. Part 1 of 4

 

Recently I’ve been reconsidering my life, and re-imagining what it might have been like. I’m one of those guys that follows the rules; all of the rules, all of the time. I stand patiently at the corner near where I work, while watching others march into the cross walk ahead of me without waiting for the Walk sign, and sometimes despite the traffic.

 

The fact that they aren't following the rules bugs me, and what I’ve recently realized is that I’ve always been this way. The house where I grew up had a very big yard and I had a great sandbox as a kid. It was huge, more than 20 feet square although one side had a random shape that affectively cut off part of one corner; so it wasn't a full 400 square feet of sand. Still, there was plenty of room for imagination.

 

I spent a lot of time in that sandbox, building roads and playing with cars, and one of my best memories was playing with a rock that was about the size of your palm. It was oblong, very smooth, flat on the bottom and flat on top except for a bump that was offset from the center. I imagined it to be a super-secret car like Batman might have kept hidden in the Bat Cave; only to be brought out in the case of a serious emergency. I loved that rock!

 

A couple of years ago as I on-ramped onto the freeway in my squarish not so flat car, I suddenly remembered something that happened in my sandbox. My next door neighbor and I were playing cars, as usual, and we had built roads and a couple of small towns. Naturally with police cars, fire trucks, dump trucks, and trips to town, there was far more to do than the two of us could manage at once. Like kids are supposed to do we took turns deciding what the cars and trucks were doing at any given moment, stopping at the stop signs and going about daily life in the sandbox.

 

From what I remember it was serious stuff. Anyway, on this day my friend suddenly decided to cut across the open country with his car, not following the roads we had so carefully laid out in the sand. I was shocked and upset, and I remember trying to get him to go around as he was supposed to. He didn't want to, of course, and eventually I let it go, ignoring his rude sandbox etiquette and accepting his failure to comply with the rules.

 

Since my recent moment of recollection I’ve been questioning my life-long compulsion to follow the rules. Why don't I complain about the things that typically upset other people? Why do I just accept rude people for who they are, without saying anything? Why do I go out of my way to follow all of the rules all of the time? I’m beginning to envy those people marching into the cross walk without waiting. I’m also beginning to realize that they are a better example than I am.