When I was seven years old, my allowance was 50 centavos a day. On my first day in school, I remember going to the cafeteria and ordering a bottle of Coke.

The saleslady pulled out a bottle and said, “Sixty centavos.”I said, “Oops,” looking at my 50 centavos in my little hand, “I changed my mind. Uh, may I have Chiz Curls?”

She fished out a small bag of puffed corn coated with cheese-flavored powder from the shelf and gave it to me. “Sixty centavos,” she said. Gulp. Returning the Chiz Curls, I asked, very embarrassed, “Is there anything I can buy for, uh, 50 centavos?”

The saleslady looked around the store, found something, and handed me a small pack of round biscuits. “Marie,” she said.

That day, I felt very poor. Because all my favorite food was out of my reach.

But one day, when I arrived from school, my mom was in the kitchen, unpacking her grocery items. Because she knew I loved Chiz Curls, she bought me a bag. When she handed it to me, I was beside myself with joy. I shrieked and held my prized possession near my chest like it was pure solid gold.

I liked Chiz Curls so much, I’d eat it very slowly. I’d cut each curl in half, put half in my mouth, absorb every granule of pleasure from each crunchy bite, and let the taste explode in my mouth.

But I had a very big problem. I had five giants living with me who happened to be my sisters. They also happened to love Chiz Curls.

I’m the youngest and the only boy.

So I counted the curls: There were only 28 curls inside the bag. I wasn’t good in Math, but overnight, I became an expert in division. I decided to ration the curls—two for each sister—so a total of 10 curls for all five sisters. And so I’d still have 18 left.

“You get two curls only!” I said to each sister.

But it didn’t work. Because my sisters were evil. They’d get one curl, then two curls, and then three curls . . .

In panic, I decided to eat my portion as fast as I could, putting five to six curls into my mouth at the same time. I finished the whole pack in four seconds. In the end, I didn’t enjoy my Chiz Curls.

The reason kids fight is because of their selfishness.

For some siblings, they never graduate from selfishness. They keep fighting until they’re 60 years old. The only thing that changed is what they fight about: It’s not about Chiz Curls anymore but about clothes and gadgets and houses and jewelry and cars and inheritance and pride and positions . . .

One day, after The Feast, a sad-looking guy approached me and said, “Bo, please pray for my brothers and sisters. When my parents were alive, we used to have our family reunions in our living room. Now that my parents are gone, we have our family reunions in the courtroom. Because one of my brothers is suing another brother over properties. It’s so ugly.”

Why do siblings fight each other?

I believe that 99 percent of all conflicts among siblings boil down to one cause: envy.

The Only Solution to Envy

If your siblings are fighting, there’s only one solution to bring unity in the family. And I don’t believe there’s any other way.

Let me tell you the solution through a story.

One day, two little brothers were fighting over the last slice of pepperoni pizza. The mother heard them squabbling and she decided to take this opportunity to teach them about loving one another. She said, “You know, boys, if Jesus were here, He would let the other person have the last slice of pizza.”

The two boys looked at each other for a few seconds. Finally, the older brother said to the little brother, “Kyle, you be Jesus today.”

But the mother is right.

This is the only way to heal a fractured family that’s fighting: Someone has to sacrifice. Someone has to be Jesus. Someone has to say, “Ako ang taya!”

Someone has to take the smaller pizza. Someone has to lay down his arms, ask for forgiveness, and become vulnerable. Someone has to die. And the one who sacrifices automatically becomes the peacemaker.

Or unity will not happen.

Do you want unity?

Kailangang lugi ka at lamang sila. (You have to take the short end of the stick and let them have the bigger share.)

And tell them, “I’m doing this because I love you.”

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