I work with a gentleman who often announces that he “loves” someone “the best”. Usually the person receiving his affection is the person closest to the coffee maker. I think he believes that if he bats his big brown eyes, gives a huge toothy grin, and butters up his target with shouts of sweetness from across the room, he may be rewarded with a cup of coffee.
Last week, Eldest hacked my Facebook. She took my phone when I was distracted, and updated my status to read, “Eldest is my favorite!” She then ceaselessly giggled when she told me what she had done. I didn’t say anything; I just plotted my next move. That post, by the way, received two likes and a number of comments about how I must have been hacked.
Any good parenting book will tell you not to play favorites with your children. But a few years ago I asked Littlest to put a load of laundry into the washing machine. She was deeply offended since she thought it was one of her sister’s turns to do that chore. She pleaded, “But daddy, why me?” I replied, “Because you are my favorite.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her eyes, “I know, but...”
I think I am still waiting for that load of laundry to be put into the washer.
This choosing of the best has been a tradition in our house since that time, with Eldest and Littlest each arguing between themselves as to who is really my favorite. Meanwhile, Middlest stays out of the fray, and when I tell her that she is my favorite, she replies with a stately and quietly dignified, “I know.” This is out of character for Middlest, who has made it a point to attack every moment of the day with enormous gusto, scathing sarcasm, and the wittiest of comments, such as, “What?! It’s 5 o’clock already?! God Save the Queen!”
So, on Friday, Eldest posted that she was my favorite when she hacked my Facebook. On Saturday, I posted, “Middlest is my favorite.” She remained silent, but her sisters argued back and forth in the comments that they were actually my favorite.
On Saturday, I posted “Littlest is my favorite.” By this point social media apparently had grown bored with my inability to pick one favorite and stick with it; that post only had two likes and no discussion. Littlest would say that there were no comments because it was the truth.
On Sunday I posted that my account had been hacked, and that “Beloved is truly my favorite.” Now that post was greeted with great mayhem, with 14 likes and 5 comments.
Unlike my friend from work, I would never resort to underhanded complimenting in order to get something I wanted. I simply have a hard time making up my mind who is really my favorite.
Although, Littlest has been getting up early and making me coffee this week.
And the other day, Middlest had me laughing so hard my sides hurt.
Oh, and Eldest has been playing the piano lately.
And Beloved took me out to breakfast.
Crud, I cant make up my mind.
Isn't it humbly and flattering that they all want to be your favourites? And that's the only way it can be. They all have to share the rank of equal favourite. My two adult children still contest who is the favourite, each believing (with good reason) they are. A twelve year difference should have avoided that issue I thought, but no, the debate still wages. As a teacher I always made sure I didn't favour one child over another. I treated each of them as they very special individual they were. They would never have considered another child my favourite, for each believed they were!
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