When my brother asked if his sons could stay with me and my teenage son for two weeks, I expected some chaos. What I didn’t expect was entitlement, snide remarks, and daily disrespect — until one moment in the car gave me the perfect opportunity to set things straight.
It started with a phone call.
“Hey, sis,” my brother said, with that cheerful tone he always uses when he needs a favor. “Amy and I are heading off for a three-week vacation. Can you take the boys for two of those weeks? Amy’s mom will have them for the last stretch.”
I hesitated. My instincts whispered caution, but I told myself, *it’s just two weeks*. Family helps family. Right?
Two days later, they arrived — Tyler and Jaden, dragging designer luggage and wearing sunglasses like they were stepping onto a red carpet. I hadn’t seen them in a while, and wow, had they changed.
Tyler, 13, carried himself like a critic judging a reality show. Jaden, 15, had a glare that could cut through steel. They glanced around my home like I’d invited them into a museum from the past.
My son Adrian, ever the sweet and hopeful kid, greeted them with a tray of freshly baked cookies.
“Want some? Mom just made them yesterday.”
Tyler wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell? Is it… spaghetti?”
“I’m cooking dinner,” I said, smiling. “Spaghetti bolognese. Hope you’re hungry.”
Jaden gave a polite nod — then followed it up with, “Our chef at home usually makes this with garlic confit and imported basil.”
Yes. Their *chef*. I swallowed my pride.
“That’s impressive,” I said. “Here, the chef’s on a teacher’s salary, so she works with what she’s got.”
But the attitude didn’t stop there. Adrian, eager to bond, offered to play some games with them on his laptop.
“What is this?” Jaden laughed, lifting it like it might break. “Did this come out before I was born?”
Tyler added, “Can it even run Fortnite, or just Minesweeper?”
Watching my son’s face fall? That was the hardest part.
They dismissed everything — our food, our furniture, our TV, even our fridge. When Adrian asked them to build Legos or play outside, they scoffed. They refused to help with chores and treated every request like an inconvenience.
Still, I stayed patient. *It’s just two weeks,* I told myself again and again.
And then came the car ride.
The day they were supposed to leave, I loaded their bags into the car, relieved that the finish line was in sight. But as I started the car, the seatbelt warning chimed.
“Buckle up,” I said.
Tyler rolled his eyes. “We don’t wear seatbelts. They wrinkle our shirts. Dad doesn’t care.”
“Well, I do,” I said firmly, pulling over. “No seatbelt, no ride.”
Jaden huffed. “You’re kidding, right?”
I wasn’t.
I calmly explained California’s seatbelt law and the steep fines. Jaden actually smirked. “Just say you don’t want to pay it. Dad will send you the money.”
Then he dialed my brother and put him on speaker.
“Dad, she won’t drive unless we wear seatbelts.”
“She’s just being difficult,” Tyler added. “Can you tell her to just go?”
My brother’s voice came through, annoyed. “Just put your seatbelts on. What’s the big deal?”
Then he hung up.
Still, they sat there with arms crossed. So I turned off the engine and stepped outside the car.
“I’ll wait here,” I said, calmly. “But I’m not driving anywhere until you buckle up.”
What followed was 45 minutes of dramatic sighs, grumbling, and eye-rolling from the backseat. But I didn’t budge.
Eventually, Tyler gave in. “Fine. We’ll wear them. Just drive.”
Jaden snapped his belt into place with a huff.
But during their protest, traffic had built up. A ride that should have taken 30 minutes now took over an hour. We arrived at the airport 10 minutes too late.
The boys were stunned. Their confident expressions faded fast as they realized they’d missed their flight.
My phone buzzed. My brother. I answered.
“You made them miss their flight?” he shouted. “Why didn’t you just drive?”
I took a deep breath and calmly replied, “Because safety is non-negotiable. Maybe if they had more structure at home, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Click. He hung up.
Later that day, Adrian showed me a text from Tyler: *“Your mom is crazy.”*
I just smiled.
No, I’m not. I’m a parent. And that means teaching kids what’s right — even if it’s inconvenient, even if it makes someone miss their flight.
Entitlement may work in some places, but in my home, we follow rules. And sometimes, life itself becomes the best teacher of all.
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