When you’re a kid and you have siblings it’s common to wonder, “Do my parents love one of us more than the other?” My sisters and I would ask that a lot, and my parents would always say the same thing: “We love you all the same. You’ll understand one day. Parents don’t love one kid more than the other.”
Now as a father myself I know that isn’t entirely true. I always love whichever kid isn’t crying or whining more than the one who is, but still, that feels temporary. Even though I’m a grown-ass man with children of my own, I still wonder the same thing with my own parents. The difference is that any time I asked my dad that same question in the last couple years, he didn’t hesitate. “You’re my favorite.”
Damn, that feels good.
“What about you, Mom?”
“I love Jane the most because she loves me the most.”
Uh, okay. I guess that’s good news for Jane and me and not so great for Maria, my older sister.
I have two sons. I adore them both equally. As of this writing my oldest boy, Ellis, just turned six. My youngest, Julian, is three. They couldn’t be more different. I’ll begin with demeanor. The three-year-old is easygoing. He laughs a lot and listens when you say something twice. Ellis doesn’t really play that shit. He wants what he wants and fuck you if you don’t go along with him. I thought it was our parenting or discipline, but then I realized that’s just him. The modern, evolved parent would say he’s “decisive” and even “stubborn.” But I’ll be honest, he’s kind of a dick. That isn’t to say he’s not a sweet boy, because he is. He can be. He can also be a real dick. At least he’s funny.
He’s really into snakes right now. He has stuffed animal snakes, he talks about snakes, and he wants to do nothing more than watch snake videos all day.
When I say “snake videos” I don’t mean a video of a snake just moving around or resting in a cave. He likes watching them hunt and eat. Because of him, I’ve seen them all. And, if you’re wondering, YouTube is to blame. The first time I searched “snakes” on that platform it was just an animal expert showing you a snake. Then I felt the need to show him that snakes can bite and some are venomous. I showed him that video so he wouldn’t think he could just walk up to a snake and pick it up. Soon after, we were watching snakes eat everything. Snakes eating mice, rabbits, lizards, pigs, cows, you name it. The first ten times I stopped playing them a few seconds after they started.
“I don’t think you want to see that, buddy.”
“I do, I do. I want to see him eat it.”
“Are you sure? That’s pretty intense.”
And I swear to you, with a gleeful smile he pronounced, “I do! I like it.”
Whoa.
I mean, I’ve watched all the serial killer shows and biographies, and I feel like this part is familiar. He’s not hurting animals but he sure doesn’t mind watching nature take its course. I feel like these videos would be a lot even for adults to handle, but it’s oddly soothing for my six-year-old.
Ellis is more physical and risk-taking by nature than his brother. When he approaches the end of a platform he looks down and then just jumps. Julian looks, assesses, and then decides, “That might be too far to jump.”
Verbally, it’s kind of astonishing. I have learned that it’s common for the second child to progress more rapidly than the first due to the fact that the second child is greatly influenced by their older sibling whom they spend a great deal of time with. It makes sense. Your second kid is around your first kid all day. The second kid has someone to model after, to learn how to move, how to speak, how to exist in this world.
The three-year-old was speaking in complicated, complete sentences at eighteen months and doing so while correctly conjugating verbs.
While he speaks well, we’ve had the recent development of Julian not liking his own name, which is fun. We found out because he yelled at us one day when we called him by his name, as we have done since we named him. We have nicknames for him, like Julián but with a Spanish pronunciation like WHO-LEE-YAWN. Sometimes we call him Jujito or Juju. He was all about those names until about three months ago when, out of nowhere, he rejected all of his names and started naming himself. First he said his name was Beeshu. I asked him where he got that name, and he simply replied, “California.”
Makes sense, I thought.
But they’ve kept coming at an alarming pace. If you even try to call him Julian, he gets very upset.
“I’m not Julian!”
Some of his self-proclaimed names that we’ve all had to adhere to at home lately are: Moth, Mr. Dog, Mr. Parking Lot, Window, Mr. President, Blender, Steppin’ Stone, and Red Light, Green Light, Yellow Light. And, yes, you must name all three lights or he doesn’t acknowledge you.
It’s been an interesting challenge, and I must say when he insists on not responding to his given name he quickly becomes my not favorite son.
Ellis took longer with his language development. He understood a lot but spoke in two-, three-, and four-word sentences, many times grammatically incorrect. He was saying things like “I do,” “Give me more,” and “I hold you,” which was a misspoken attempt at saying, “Hold me.” I knew the big sentences were coming soon. I would always get really excited when he spoke. It wasn’t just that he had this adorable little voice. I was bracing myself with anticipation for what would be his first complete sentence of more than a few words to me. He clearly understood pretty complicated language structure himself and he was giving all signs that he was processing what was said. If we discussed that we would go swimming after we ran errands and did some work, he would interject.
“No. Now!”
He understood and he knew what he wanted to say, he just needed a little time to express it fully.
The short sentences continued until the magical day when my firstborn son spoke his first full sentence to his father.
I remember it so clearly. I had gone from the kitchen to the play area where he was sitting by himself, surrounded by toys, drawing on a piece of paper with a crayon. I greeted him the same way my father had greeted me my whole life.
“Hey, buddy! What ya doing?”
I sat down next to him ready to enjoy a few moments with my toddler. That was when he looked directly into my eyes and said it.
“I’d like to play alone, please.”
Holy shit. There it is. I smiled, convinced it was said in jest. And the look on his face told me it was not. He stared at me longer than you would if you’re joking. It was the kind of look someone would give you if they were on the phone and needed you to leave. You know exactly what their look is saying.
Get out.
I had to respect it. Not only was it his wish, it was also a credo I deeply believe in. I love to play alone. I would take it further and say that I need to be alone. Not all the time, of course. I’m not a recluse. I actually love being around people, until I don’t. The perfect social setting for me is being surrounded by people I care about and love, and not too many of them. I love a small hang. But I need to be able to say, “I gotta go,” sometimes without warning when I need some time to myself. It’s just the way I am. Luckily for me, I have built an ecosystem around myself that supports this. All my good friends know that every once in a while I’m going to need to go do some shit by myself and it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. Some days I don’t want to see anyone, and I savor the time to just exist. I don’t want you to think I’m building bombs in a cabin with no power. I don’t like being that alone. I just like some space from time to time. My parents know it, my siblings know it, my wife knows it, and now you know it too. We can definitely be friends, but when I need some space you’re going to have to give it to me. If you don’t, well, we’re not going to be friends. It’s nothing new. When I was a kid I could occupy myself for hours simply by playing with cars. To this day, my parents rave about how easy I was at that age, compared to my sisters, who needed more attention. It feels like they’re saying, “Thank God we could ignore you,” but I get it.
My son’s language has exploded since that first complete sentence. I mean, he’s six now, so this would be a different chapter if it never had.
The Last Time My Son Spoke does sound like a nice title.
He still often tells me he wants to be alone, only now it’s usually far less politely. “Go away!” “Get out of here!” “Fuckin’ leave!” Which I do not approve of a six-year-old telling his father. I immediately correct him, “That’s not okay to say. Only grown-ups can talk like that.” But when I walk away I usually smile and laugh. It’s such a trip to see your kid not just speaking the way you speak, but also feeling the way you feel. When he says these things to me, my eyes widen and I feel his sentiment in a way that nothing else makes me feel. It feels like we are connected, like I’m seeing what DNA can do in a way that eye color and height can’t make you feel. It’s moments like those where I realize this really is a little version of me, and then I say to myself, “This is my favorite son.”
For now.