When I was 12 years old and my youngest brother was 8, I was quite sure that he was making out like a bandit when it came to our weekly allowance. We both received the same amount, although I knew that I did at least twice as much work as he did around the farm. Although, I did this very rarely, I felt compelled to approach my father about this terrible injustice and after I managed to gather together enough courage I did so. I told him that I did not think it was right that I did more than twice as much work as my brother did and got paid the same amount. My father’s reaction surprised me very much. He said something to the effect of “So, you do not think I am being fair, and you want me to be fair, is that correct?” I responded that I did, in fact, want him to be fair. Than he told me that he would think about it, and that he wanted me to think about it some more and we would talk again the next night. I left our meeting in high spirits. It went way better than I ever thought it would. He did not seem upset at all, I had successfully made my case, he listened, and I was about to reap a monetary reward for my brave efforts. But then I could not sleep. It was too easy; my dad did not seem concerned in the slightest. If I had won my case, than why did we have to meet again the next night? I knew that something must be up. Things never went that easily where my father was concerned. I basically fretted all night. The next day I tried to figure out what might be going on. Just as I contended, I was easily doing at least twice as much work as my younger brother. But I also realized that the chores he had actually required more effort for him than the chores I had required of me. Then I knew I was in trouble! I just knew that my dad was going to say that if I truly wanted him to be fair, than my brother should receive more than me! I realized for the first time that the definition of “fair” was a very subjective one indeed. I concluded that I wanted no part of another meeting with my father; I prayed that he would forget about it. But he did not. Just as I was getting into bed, he came to my room and said, “Don’t we need to talk?” I said that we did not; I had thought about it and was now OK with everything. He said, “But you said I was not being fair, isn’t that right?” I said that it was, to which he responded, “Are you saying, then, that you do not want me to be fair?” And I told him that he was correct, that I did not want him to be fair-and so we left well enough alone. The question that remains for us today after listening to the parable of the workers in the vineyard, is whether or not we actually want God to be “fair” with us. As for me, I can tell you with certainty since this incident when I was 12 years old that when God judges me I beg that He be anything but fair.