The Bravest Runner-Up

Every afternoon, at the park, Baby Mo and Baby Ais raced to the mango tree.

"Ready… set… GO!"

And every afternoon, Baby Mo won. He would slap the tree trunk, throw both arms in the air, and shout, "NUMBER ONE!"

Baby Ais would arrive a few seconds later, out of breath, and smile. "Congratulations, Mo!"

Always the same. A win — "Number one!" — "Congratulations, Mo!"

But this afternoon was different.

"Ready… set… GO!"

Baby Ais shot off like a cat that has spotted a butterfly. Her legs were small but so fast. Baby Mo ran as hard as he could — but Baby Ais's back stayed ahead of him. Farther. And farther.

Tap! Baby Ais touched the tree first.

Baby Mo stopped. His face went hot. He kicked the grass. "Not fair! My shoes are slippery! I wasn't ready! Do it again!"

Baby Ais lowered the arms she had raised. Her smile slowly faded.

Abi, sitting on the park bench, called Baby Mo over. "Mo, come here a moment."

Baby Mo came, scowling, arms folded across his chest.

"Losing doesn't feel nice, does it," said Abi.

Baby Mo nodded hard. His eyes were starting to water.

"I just want to ask you one thing. When you win, what does Ais usually say?"

Baby Mo went quiet. He remembered. Every afternoon. Every time Ais lost.

"…'Congratulations, Mo,'" he whispered.

"And Ais must have felt sad about losing sometimes too, right?"

Baby Mo looked at Baby Ais under the mango tree. His sister was picking up leaves, alone, celebrating nothing.

It felt so heavy. His feet felt like they had stones stuck to them. Saying congratulations while you're sad yourself — that turned out to be harder than any race.

But Baby Mo walked. One step. Two steps. All the way to the mango tree.

"Ais," he said, still scowling a little. "Congratulations. You were really fast."

Baby Ais's face lit up like the afternoon sun. "Want to race again?"

Baby Mo shook his head. Then he sat down beside his sister. "Tomorrow. Right now, tell me — how did you get so fast?"

And Baby Ais told him, for a very long time, her hands flapping like wings.

Abi smiled from the bench. That afternoon there were two champions. The winner of the race. And the bravest runner-up.

"None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself." (Bukhari 13, Muslim 45)

Talk it over with your little one: why does saying "congratulations" when you lose take courage? When did you last do it? 🏃