A quarrel over a sand mound

It was when I was three or four. One day, I was sitting in the playground with my friends with a bunch of older kids. Some of our mothers were also there casually watching over us.

I was sitting across from a boy a few years older than me. He had been assigned the role of helping me to make a sand mound. I was happily making the sand mound, mixing a little bit of water to the sand so that the shape could stay properly.

When the mound was complete, I made sure to keep the top pointed like a cone. In my imagination, this was how a mountain should look like. I was satisfied with the way my sand mound turned out.

The next moment, the older boy in front of me took his shovel and pressed it against the top of my sand mound in order to flatten the top part. As soon as I saw the flattened top, I got upset. I hurriedly scooped up a handful of sand and put it on top, making it pointed again.

This time, the boy became upset and he flattened the top again in front of my eyes. I again scooped up sand in my hand to correct the shape of my sand mound, but the boy stopped me.

“Don’t do it,” he said.

I told him that my sand mound had to have a pointed top. It was my sand mound, I said.

“If you make it pointed again, I won’t play with you anymore.”

I fumed and whined, but he didn’t change his mind. He was equally determined about the correct shape of the sand mound. Because I didn’t want the play to end, I reluctantly agreed to have a flattened top for my sand mound. But inside, I was deeply upset looking at my own sand mound without a pointed top.