Young Irony

“Amy.”

“What.”

“Get out of your bed.”

“No.”

“Amy! Get out of your bed.”

Amy glared through the bars of her crib, staring at her older brother with a hearty scowl.

“Dad said we can’t get out of our cribs,” she said.
Caleb’s three-year-old brain knew dad had said so, but dad wasn’t here in the room. Dad had gone right after prayers and One More Story Time. Pitted against his desire to climb out and play with the legos was his little sister, Amy, who would later go on to earn the nickname Stubborn Mule and Iron Legs. The two were correlated.

Negotiation tactics were needed.
“Amy, just put your leg over crib,” Caleb had stopped whispering and was now pulling at the wooden, slightly-chewed-soft-by-other-children bars on his own crib.

For a moment, she thought about doing it, swinging one leg into freedom. What Caleb wouldn’t understand till many years later, however, was that this particular younger sister had an above average intelligence. She understood (even at the tender age of two) that in order to swing her leg over, she would have to stand up and climb over the railing.
It would be a direct defiance to her father’s stern command that they Stay In Bed.
“No.”

Her favorite word once again defeated Caleb’s attempt at anarchy.

Then, in a moment of psychological brilliance, he understood what he needed to say. A command would never sway her. It would have to be something much more terrible, something unbearable for the stubborn two-year-old in the adjacent crib.

“Amy,” he said in a slow, calculated voice, “If you don’t get out of your crib and play with me, I’m not going to be your friend.”

It was Sophie’s Choice, a colloquialism incomprehensible till she was 15, and even then she would never watch the movie. Or read the book.
Defy her father and she risked a spanking.
Deny her brother, and she would lose the friendship of the ever-suave older brother, who at the moment was thinking about Barney and the other yellow dinosaur.

“Okay.” 

She pulled herself up and lifted one flannel, pink leg. Just as she hoisted herself over the edge, the door opened.
Mom, who had been crouching behind the door, burst in just as Caleb’s padded, onesie foot hit the floor. She had been waiting, this time, waiting to catch the seeds of rebellion before it sprouted into full blown, illegal lego fun. Caught by the empirical authority, the rebels had no choice but to submit to their spankings.

Fifteen minutes later, the two were once again enclosed in their wooden caged cribs. Amy still sniffled, mostly out of an indignant anger towards now un-cool older brother.

“Amy.”

“Go ‘way.”

“Aaamy.”

She turned her head towards the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. A remnant tear appeared and followed the wet path on her cheek, dripping onto her ducky blanket.

“Caleb, now I’m not going to be your friend!”

Authority usurped, tables turned, the two fell asleep.

Young Irony.