My husband and I decided we wanted 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 on the other side of her.  They all had drinks, so I assumed they were waiting on their 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 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 the eleven-year-old felt. I watched his face. I knew the blow had physically hurt him. I felt his anger. His mother ignored him and gave attention to the twins.

I glanced at the eight-year-old and watched him accidentally knock his drink, full of ice onto his lap. He sucked in his breath as shock flashed in his eyes. Embarrassment followed and then tears. His brother was so full of his own problems that he failed to notice, but 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. That cold, sticky drink was bothering him. It was in his shoes, and his shorts were soaked. He looked miserable, standing there dripping onto the floor.  His mother never moved.

I do not think the eleven-year-old 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… maybe justice.”

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.”

There is also Galatians 6:7 to consider,  “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 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. That man listened while he watched his still-frozen-in-place eight-year-old drip onto the floor.

The man looked tired. He never said a word. Neither did his wife. One of the toddlers crawled onto his lap. He quietly loved on him for a few minutes while he avoided the eyes of his two older boys.

The eleven-year-old watched him, and it broke my heart. His bright eyes revealed his pain. I believe both parents were aware of his struggle.

I longed to tell that young boy 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 who knew firsthand 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. They may need it more.

I remember a few of the injustices in my childhood. They hurt so deeply at the time that some of the pain remains.