Twittleborough’s Folly: a tale for children

Twittleborough’s Folly: a tale for children

The chief characteristic of the otherwise unremarkable city to Twittleborough is that it is almost perfectly bisected by the Karain River, both in terms of area and population. Indeed, allowing for the minor day-to-day fluctuations of birth and death, the number of people living on the east side of the Karain is – statistically speaking – identical to the population living on the west side of the river.

As fortune (or misfortune, as you will see in the story that follows) would have it, each side boasts their own school, and the parents on each side are fiercely partisan in support of their own children’s school (which also happens to be, in most cases, their own alma mater). The only portion of Twittleborough’s population that is not absolutely blind in their support of one or another school are those residents who do not have children. These childless members of the community often support the school on their side of the Karain, but not always. And never does the vehemence of their support come close to matching that of the residents who have children.

And so our story begins with the decision to stage a soccer game between the children attending the east side school and those who attended the west side school to determine the Twittleborough championship. No sooner was this contest agreed upon, however, than bickering between the east side parents and the west side parents began.

The first argument centered on where the contest should be held. Those on the east side correctly pointed out that their facility would be able to hold more spectators since a recent community development project had constructed a new grandstand. Those on the west side pointed out that their field was the better field to play on since a separate community development project had installed a new drainage and watering system at their facility.

Organizing Committee representatives from both sides of the river argued passionately for the soccer match to be on their field while parents from both sides organized demonstration after demonstration in support of their side of the river.

After nearly a month of bickering on the subject, without resolution, the childless members of the Twittleborough community were convinced to side with east side faction, since more seating meant more of their own constituents would be able to attend, assuming any of them cared about the outcome of the soccer match at all.

The next battle line was drawn over how the game should begin. No one in Twittleborough felt that the traditional method of beginning a soccer match was appropriate (please note here that they agreed on one thing, at least!), and, after a week of discussion, a consensus determined that the construction of a ramp from which the ball was rolled onto the field of play was the best method of starting the competition fairly.

Unfortunately, discussions from this point quickly took a turn for the worst.

First there was the heated argument over the height and slope of the ramp. The east side argued that the height needed to be 10 feet. The west side felt that eight feet was sufficient. The east side brought in experts that argued for the 10 foot height and provided calculations on the speed the ball would achieve as it entered the field of play. The west side quickly countered that the speed of the ball couldn’t be calculated unless the slope was determined and, since the slope had yet to come up in negotiations, the expert’s calculations were completely irrelevant.

Next the west side brought in members of their constituency who, at the investment of significant time, had drawn plans showing an eight foot high ramp with a 62 degree slope that they calculated would deliver the ball with sufficient enough speed to allow the ball to roll to the far side of the field. This, they argued, was the ideal design and should be amenable to everyone in Twittleborough.

Not so fast, cried the east side! While the design seems ideal, no determination on the materials used to construct the ramp had been decided upon; therefore all the west side community member’s designs and calculations were meaningless.

Now, over two and one half months into the negotiations, discussion turned to what materials would be used to construct the ramp. Those on the east side favored the ramp being constructed of wood and metal so that it could be disassembled and reassembled at any location in the future. Those on the west side favored a ramp constructed of dirt and stone, arguing the natural materials in this ramp would be more aesthetically pleasing.

Meanwhile, demonstrators from both sides continued to organize rallies throughout the community on an almost weekly basis. And the childless members of the community were beset daily (and sometimes more often) by campaigners from both factions trying to woo their support in order to push their agenda through.

And still the debated dragged on; and still no soccer game took place (or was even scheduled).

Finally, both sides – deeply entrenched in their own views without any thought of negotiating a compromise – agreed on a course of action: they decided to hold a special meeting where they invited the children who would actually be playing the soccer game to come and make their views on the issues known.

And so, on the night of the meeting, with the committee representatives at the front of the room (the east-siders sitting on the east side of the table and the west-siders sitting on the west side of the table…naturally), virtually the entire populace of Twittleborough turned out to hear what the young athletes had to say about the controversy.

Loud bickering, cursing and screaming filled the room until the door opened and a lone young man began to make his way toward the front of the room. Silence descended almost immediately as both sides waited to hear the boy’s words, each faction certain that their views would be vindicated in the next few moments.

When the boy reached the front of the room, he was acknowledged by the committee and was granted the floor in order to speak.

The room – if it is possible – became even more silent as the boy cleared his throat and raised his gaze to the committee members.

“Committee and community members,” he stated, “I have been selected to come before you on behalf of the children of Twittleborough, and all we have to say is this: It’s winter outside, people. There’s three feet of snow on the ground and we are all busy playing basketball and volleyball. We don’t care about your soccer game. Thank you for the opportunity to share our views.”

And the boy left…presumably to a nearby gymnasium.