When speaking of having children, I like to tell people that I cannot wait to have at least two kids. “Man,” I’ll start lightheartedly, “It’ll be something awesome to have them fight in the car seats behind me,” and my listener’s face inevitably drops, “I’d probably goad them on. Let the better one win.”
This makes people skeptical about my future parenting skills, but, as an only child, fights about who gets more room in the back seat, who gets to use the Walkman, who gets to have the snack, and who gets a hug first, are not problems I have ever seen manifested before – and, anthropologically speaking, are crazy fascinating. You see, the only person I ever had to fight against was myself and all that really mattered was how badly I wanted what was at the end of the race.
For example I could rationalize that getting a B was just fine. A B was rated as “above average”. I mean, sure, an A “excellent” but wasn’t being above average pretty excellent in itself?
[I have been dealing with semantics my entire life.]
That said, experiencing the crushing blow of a C for the very first time in third grade (which I immediately crumpled up and threw away), I knew that I was going to be my very harshest critic, and to this day, I still am. However, every time I’ve had to fight myself, ultimately, the better version of me won.