They were about five years old. Eight little boys playing on someone’s front lawn. I was only half paying attention while waiting outside of my daughter’s flute lesson.

Something happened.

One of the little boys sat down on the sidewalk while the rest of the boys divided into two groups.

“Why’d you have to say that to him?”, one asked.

The little boy who was being accused looked at the boy on the sidewalk and back at his accuser and said, “I didn’t do nothing.”

That might have been the end of it. It could have easily turned into a “yes you did” – “no I didn’t” argument.

Instead the boy on the grass looked over at the boy on the sidewalk and said, “hey, he’s fake crying.”

Again that could have been the end of it. Other kids could have pitched in with a “yeah, he’s fake crying” but they didn’t and he wasn’t.

A little boy wandered over to the kid on the sidewalk and put his arm around his friend.

I don’t know what he said to him. He could have advised his friend, “don’t pay attention to that jerk.” He might have quietly asked “are you fake crying or really crying?” I don’t know what he said. It doesn’t matter.

Another little boy shouted, “we’ve only got about five minutes left to play and then we have to go home for dinner.”

Both boys stood back up, looked back at the spot on the sidewalk where they had just been, and wandered back to their friends on the grass.

I’ve seen a ton of adult arguments start out much the same way. They seldom end that quickly or that well. Within moments the boys were back to playing and all was forgotten and forgiven.