Today a 2nd grader had an argument with her brother, a Kindergarten. She was in utter disarray. Naturally having a flare for drama anyway, she was frustrated, crying, and couldn't believe the injustice. Her little brother just looked at her in disbelief, trying to understand what the argument was about to begin with.
After resigning to the fact that this problem was not going to get resolved in that moment, I sent her to her classroom to join her friends for the poetry lesson during writing time. Hours later, she shows me this, her experience (which is applicable, I'd say, to anyone, of any age), in poetry:
Arguing
When I get mad, I am red as blood. It sticks to me like glue.
When I get sad, I am blue as the sky. It sticks to me like honey.
But when I am both I feel as if I was purple. It sticks to me like cement.
Same to him.
A colorful fight of unhappiness and no one wins. We all lose.
And then we win.
Then red and blue and purple rise up again. Until then, no arguing.
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