A Life Lesson They Should Learn
What seemed like a brilliant decision last week by Vice Mayor Alan Corlin is looking shabby this afternoon. Rather than disappointing one group of children who would be devastated by losing out as Culver Citys home team, Mr. Corlin devised a scheme by which both sides could remain undefeated. The Royal Swim Team, which is much smaller and has different goals, and the Edge Swim Club should share the pool space and time equally, he proposed. Every colleague back him. When a parent asked at last nights Town Hall meeting, What do you mean by equal? I thought, in my typically unobtrusive manner, how could she ask such a self-evident question? Pal, if you grew up with siblings, regardless of whether you are at the older end or the younger end, you are forced to learn to share. That is life. That also is what this whole dispute is about. Sharing is a terrific life lesson that the swimmers never will learn when they are any younger. If the me-always-first attitude the parent spoke of last night is representative of feelings on the bigger, stronger Edge team, I say boo on them. Learn to get along, kids. Other people live in this world.
A Lesson from Uncle Editor
The children on Coach Patrick Morans team, who seemed sweet and well-mannered last week in Council Chambers, probably could profit from a large dose of humility administered by their obviously talented leaders. Being the most numerous group and holding noble goals do not automatically make them the most important player. If Mr. LaPointe had chosen diplomacy instead of recreation as a career, we might be talking this afternoon about Culver Citys Parks and Recreation Director, the linguistically challenged Henry Kissinger. The subtle intellectual agility and acuity of Mr. LaPointe positions him to be remembered, after this bitter swim war is over, as The Great Compromiser. I am so impressed by his skills for bringing disagreeing parties together, he almost cannot be over-rated.
Postscript
The foregoing, however, is mere shrubbery compared to what follows. I was both astonished and offended last night at the Town Hall meeting when the swim team lady said the time may be near for Edge to bring its lawyers into the bargaining room. I have not laughed much since Groucho died. But this suggestion threatened to spark an almost junior grin unless, of course, the lady was serious. Lawyers? These are little boys and girls. They are swimming, not negotiating with the president of Iran. They are swimming. A tinhorn lawyer? This might bring Groucho back from the dead. He never could resist a wisecrack in such a ripe scenario. Quick, somebody send out for two bottles of Dr. Browns, half a pastrami sandwich and one fat sense of humor. Aint no humor in the house. Lighten up. The swimmers I saw in Council Chambers were pretty young. They are impressionable. They are supposed to be following the honorable precepts of life as taught by their clean-spirited leaders. A lawyer? Where is Jack Bennys violin? What will a lawyer teach em? I see it now. Kid slides into home plate. Called out. He thinks he was safe, naturally. His coach says, Dont panic. I shall summon our lawyer. Mr. LaPointe, you will be a genius if you can conquer these egos.
