My husband and I decided we wanted a Whataburger for lunch. We took a booth near a woman who was playing a game of cards with her two oldest boys. They looked to be about eleven and eight years old. She had twin toddlers, under three years old, on the other side of her. They all had drinks, so I assumed they were waiting on the food.

The eleven-year-old won the game and the eight-year-old was angry. He hit his brother behind the head. The eleven-year-old complained bitterly to his mother, but she only frowned at the eight-year-old. That child picked up his large drink and stomped to the table behind his big brother.

As an older sibling, I knew exactly how that child felt. I watched his face. I knew that blow had hurt him, and I felt his anger. His mother did not seem to notice his misery or his struggle with tears, but I knew she was aware. I wondered if she would explain to him later or forget about it.

I glanced at the eight-year-old and watched him knock his large drink, full of ice, onto his lap. He sucked in his breath as shock filled his eyes. Embarrassment followed and then tears. The eleven-year-old was so full of his own problems, that he failed to notice. His mother’s face was priceless.

Two employees rushed over with a mop and a bucket. I listened to them telling the child that accidents happen and that all was well. That cold drink was bothering him. His mother never moved to help in any way. The sticky drink was in his shoes and his shorts were soaked. He looked miserable standing there dripping onto the floor.

The eleven-year-old never turned around. I do not think he knew what was happening, because he was fighting tears and looking out the window. My husband had his back to all of this, but he turned to look when I said, “Boy, that’s karma! I don’t know what else to call it . . . Justice maybe.”

Karma is not Christian, but Psalm 7:16 says, “His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealings shall come down upon his own pate.” Then there is Galatians 6:7 to consider. “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reap.”

Suddenly, a man wearing a Whataburger shirt walked to the booth and sat down. The eleven-year-old immediately explained to his father that his brother had hit him. The man listened, while he watched his still-frozen-in-place, eight-year-old drip onto the floor.

Dad looked tired. He never said a word. Neither did Mom. One of the toddlers crawled onto his lap. He quietly loved on him, while avoiding the eyes of his two older sons. The bright eyes of the eleven-year-old revealed his broken heart. My own heart ached for him.

I longed to tell him that his parents did love him. That one day he would understand why they let the injustice slide. I wanted to tell him that this day was preparing him to be a wonderful, loving parent. Not a father, but a dad that knew first-hand how hard it is to be the eldest sibling.

Parents, if you are not the oldest, or you are an only child, please remember your first baby needs your love, attention and understanding as much as the younger ones. Maybe they need it more because of the responsibility placed on them. I remember a few injustices in my childhood. They hurt so deeply at the time, that some of the pain remains.