One of the cool things about having kids is you can teach them to be like you, to like what you like and “to hate what you hate” (Home Simpson.) It’s cool to show them a favorite childhood movie or read them a favorite childhood book. You beam when they beg for you not to turn off the radio playing one of your favorite songs. You smile as they do things you remember doing yourself.
One of the worst things about having kids is they can be just like you.
As I wrote down a story Tornado E had just told me, he buckled up in the back. School was out, and it was time to finally go home.
Tornado E: Mommy, I’m waiting.
In a sarcastic tone that I recognize right off the back. I opened myself to tell him to change his tone.
Tornado E: Waiting.
In a sarcastic tone that should have come out of my mouth. Oh my God. It’s me. He’s parroting me. He’s been listening to me be sarcastic with the adults in our lives. The timing, the tone, the one word. It was perfect. It was funny. If it wasn’t so rude and aimed at me. God, I am a brat.
Tornado E: (in a sing-song manner) Waiting. (pause.) Waiting. (pause.) Waiting.
Ok, now you over did it.