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... if there was anything consistent with the way she raised us, it was in her refusal to allow any of us to indulge in self-pity of any kind. She achieved this through a maddening style of argument, in which the following three statements were repeated in various sequences:

A. It's your life + social commentary.
B. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things.
C. No one ever said that life was fair.

For example, an argument I had with her when I was eleven:

"I want to go out for the football team," I said. " ... all my friends are playing."

"It's your life," she answered." But I don't want to be responsible for you hobbling around on crutches your whole life because you blew out your knee as a kid. And besides, we don't have the money for it."

"But I want to."

"What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things."

"That's not fair. You always say that."

She shrugged. "No one ever said that life was fair."

I paused, trying another approach.

"I won't get hurt, if that's what you're worried about."

She looked me over. "Someone your size? You'd definitely get hurt. I've seen football players. You'd be nothing more than a bug on the windshield to them. You're too small."

She had a point there. I was small.

"I wish I was bigger. Like my friends are."

She put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "Oh sweetie, no one ever said that life was fair."

"I know, but still ..."

"Just remember this, okay?" she'd offer, her voice softening with maternal affection. "It'll help you later in life when you're disappointed about anything. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should try another sport."

My mom would smile tenderly, as if finally conceding the argument. "Hey, do what you want. It's your life."

The older I get, the more I hated these arguments, because I lost every one of them. But still, deep down, I could never escape the feeling that my mom was probably right about most things. After all, she spoke from experience.

~ Nicholas Sparks, "Three Weeks with My Brother"