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Dad v. Beast Wars

Posted by on October 3, 2012
Beast Wars, Autism, Aspergers, Dad

I will destroy your morning!

I’ve never been a big Transformers fan.  Not even when I was a kid.  Maybe it was because I could just never get the hang of transforming any of them.  They were apparently far too complicated for me.

But my sons have both loved them…and only handed a few of them to me to break when they had troubles transforming them.

I kind of like the story…kind of…but not really.  The eternal struggle between Optimus and Megatron, the inevitable betrayal of StarScream…

What I really hate about them now is The Boy has become obsessed with watching them every morning before school.

And woe to the parent who tries to interrupt him…for…I don’t know…getting ready for school?  Things like brushing your teeth and hair stand no chance against the awesome might of Megatron (“He turns into a dragon now!”)

The twenty one year old used to watch these same shows years ago.  Back then, there was no “wonderful” netflix to allow him to watch show after show constantly.  It was just programmed on at 6:30 am every morning…right after Pokeman, I think.

“Optimus changes into a big blue guerilla with a surfboard,” Noah tells me…in the middle of explaining thirty other robot transformations…or maybe a million, I’m not sure.  When you’re trying to get everybody ready for school in the morning, it only takes a few distractions to throw everybody off of their grooves.

It’s our morning now!

“Teeth and hair, buddy?’ I remind him again.

With the Micheal Bay’s (ALL BLOWED UP) Transformers franchise, they all came back.  Transformers cartoons up the ying-yang…and even the return of the 10 year old “Beast Wars” with all of it’s 1990’s adolescent CG animation.

And The Boy can’t get enough…especially in the morning before school.

“Just pause it, buddy,” I tell him.  “You can finish watching it in a minute.”

Now starts the whining and moaning.  I’m “tormenting” him.

I’m sorry, but as much as I try to make myself out as one, I’m not and after asking repeated times, it starts to get on my nerves.

“Pause it or I will and you don’t have to finish watching it after we’re done either.”

It’s at this point that I notice how his high pitch whining echoes the whining of the villain on the show.  It makes me wonder, “why do all villains seem to have high-pitched, nasally voices?”  Is that something in our subconscious that just makes us want to kill them…

“NOW!” I yelled at him and wrestled the remote away from him.  Then I paused it and listened to him cry for a moment.  “Why do we have to argue like this?  You know you have to do this every morning.”

He stands up and stomps a few times.  “You’re so mean.  Why do you hate me?”

“I’m not falling for that crap.”  It probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but I was getting more and more pissed and StarScream just didn’t know when to shut the hell up.  After getting him into the bathroom and taking care of his teeth and hair and after taking a few deep breaths infused with wishes for the death of Cybertron, I said, “You can’t guilt me.  You know I don’t hate you.  I love you, but sometimes I really hate some of the things you do.”

“I’m such a bad son!”

“Again, you’re not a bad son, but you’ve got to quit arguing with us so much.  It’s not helping anybody.”

He huffed and sat back down.

Another fine morning you’ve gotten me into, Optimus.

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