Good old-fashioned sibling rivalry waxes and wanes at a mind-boggling pace. Can a father keep up?
So the new Transformers 3 movie is out. Everyone in Chicago seems pretty excited because a big part of the movie was filmed on the streets of the Windy City. I want to care but I’ve never even seen Transformers 1. Or 2.
Anyway, I live with a couple Transformers. My two sons.
Honestly. In the course of a typical 24-hour period, their relationship runs the spectrum from contemplated murder, foul language and name-calling to a Norman Rockwell painting of two loving brothers tossing a baseball in the backyard.
It drives me nuts.
Here’s a typical breakfast scene in our home between brothers:
Brother One: “Chew with your mouth closed. It’s gross.”
Brother Two: “I am. I can’t help it. It’s my braces. Leave me alone.”
Brother One (under his breath): “You’re disgusting.”
Brother Two (to the entire house): “I’m leaving. Dad!”
Brother One (to the entire zipcode): “Dad! How can you expect me to put up with this!”
And so begins another day of brotherly love for these two guys. I used to try to referee. I used to fiddle, meddle and try to mend. But then the light went off in my thick skull that they needed to deal with this on their own.
Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. They are both stubborn, strong-willed and rigid. But they both eventually transform. Inevitably I’ll find them watching a movie together in the family mancave. It’s nice. And weird. All at the same time.
Back to the Chicago movie. I hear it’s pretty neat. Michigan Avenue apparently looks like a nuclear bomb went off. There are explosions, flipped over cars and mini-wars in the streets. It sounds fun so I asked the boys if they might want to go see it.
But I don’t think that’s going to happen. They’re not speaking.