The Un-Fair

There’s only one sort of fair I like, and it’s a proper retro one – all victoriana and oompah music. The saccharine 80s fairs that mainly do the rounds today, of violent bumper cars, badly painted icons of yesteryear and sweaty onions are not my idea of fun, not least for the extravagant prices, which can be likened to a day out at a theme park with a much higher chance of whiplash.

The one that rocked up in Hackney Village Park this weekend was of the latter ilk. But now money’s not quite so tight, we promised the kids a visit, and set ourselves a budget of £15.oo. Jonah, on the way had said “fairs can be unfair” and I think this is because we’ve previously refused to go in because just aren’t worth the outlay. But I was shocked at the £4.00 entrance fee that had apparently been levied “for the health and safety of guests” and was enforced by two security guards in high vis jackets. Nonetheless, in we waltzed and I stood around holding hands like a teenager with Tom as the kids ran round a madhouse, and burnt off candy floss (for which I had haggled to get two ‘small’ for the price of one, which at £1.50 was a con and a half) on a bouncy assault course.

With Jonah leading the change, Ava quietly acquiesced to every ride he wanted, but four rides in, she quietly insisted she wanted a ride on the carousel, but with only shrapnel remaining in our pockets, I allowed her to go on, even though we didn’t have enough left for the boy to take a turn.

The roaring lasted all the way back across the park. “IT’S NOT FAIR.”  He hit me.  He yanked at my handbag. He blubbed. He screamed. Quietly I reasoned with him. I reminded him of the candy floss, the helter skelter, and how long it had taken for me to earn the money to pay for them. It fell on deaf (or muffled) ears.

After several minutes, I grabbed Tom’s hand, who was beginning to get tetchy: “Just walk away from it,” I said, in too much of a good mood to get irate – besides which, I have learned that a response to a behaviour nearly always guarantees a repeat performance. So even as Jonah hit me I merely said, “that hurt. Please stop,” and walked on, turning the other cheek, whilst other parents looked on, gunning for a fight, desperate for validation that their own parenting methods are better than mine.

It’s not always easy to stay quite so calm though. I have been one of *those* mothers.

Life isn’t fair, but it’s no good explaining that to Jonah. In his head and in mine to a certain extent, life’s unfairness should be met with resistance wherever it appears. But unlike my gentle persuasion and determination to rise above it with Jonah, out in the real world, raising your head above the parapet only gets you into trouble.

I am no respecter of arbitrary hierarchy, and I am a firm believer in fairness and leading by example. Maybe it’s because I’m a mum, and that’s just what you have to do if you don’t want a mutiny on your hands. But things aren’t fair, despite this being a democracy where we are all born equal. And although, as a child of the fairground 80s I was taught to question authority and vocalise discrimination. But in reality it’s best just to keep your mouth shut.

So I hope Jonah learns to tone it down a bit. I know he can’t help it. He sees the world in black and white, and perhaps I am too rigidly fair with him and Ava most of the time that he will feel a great sense of injustice when he gets out there and has to fend for himself. In the mean time I will ignore the caterwauling protests and stereotyped spoilt brat howls of “it’s not fair,” while all the time secretly agreeing with him – although not over Oatabix over porridge, fair ground rides or switching off the telly.

Toe the line we must. But there’s something in me that can’t help poking it a bit, every now and again to see if I can get it to move.

But then, there’s no getting off this carousel. I also want to say that life’s a rollercoaster, but that’s probably a fairground metaphor too fair, right?