When my brother dropped off his spoiled sons, Tyler and Jaden, for a two-week stay, I didn’t expect luxury-level demands or sneers at homemade meals. From criticizing my cooking to mocking my son’s gaming laptop, they treated our home like it was beneath them. My son Adrian, ever kind, tried hard to connect, but their arrogance only grew. I stayed silent, reminding myself it was temporary — but it wore me down.
The boys whined about everything — my “ancient” fridge, soft guest beds, and the lack of a voice-controlled TV. Adrian’s attempts to bond were met with laughter or eye-rolls, whether it was over cookies or Legos. I bit my tongue every day, counting down to their departure. When it finally came time to drop them off for their flight to their grandparents, I thought the worst was over. I was wrong.
In the car, their refusal to wear seatbelts was the final straw. “We don’t wear them — Dad doesn’t care,” Tyler said. I pulled over immediately. “No belts, no ride.” When they called their father to tattle, he sided with me and told them to buckle up. Still, they refused. That’s when I shut off the engine and waited outside. I was done being disrespected.
Forty-five minutes of sulking finally broke them. Begrudgingly, they put on their seatbelts. That silence on the ride to the airport was the most peaceful part of their visit. I didn’t need an apology — watching them squirm was apology enough. Sometimes, the best lessons aren’t taught with lectures, but with consequences.