During this long journey, amidst conflicts and territorial disputes, an annoying sound permeated the air: the sound of whistling. "Please stop whistling," this mother would ask her 3rd child and for a time it would stop. But the yearning of expression is strong and inevitably the whistling would start again. Loudly, the same lines over and over and over and over till the mother wanted to jam something, anything, into her ears to keep that tune from echoing inside her already stressed out mind.
"JUST STOP WHISTLING NOW!!!" She finally exclaimed in a last ditch effort to preserve sanity. In the stunned silence that followed the mother could (finally) hear her conscience whisper, "Dude, that was a bit harsh." In an effort to restore any lost or broken confidence in her tender son, she followed the outburst by weakly chuckling, "You know, you are just like your father, he is always whistling, too. Can't help it."
And That Was The Fatal Flaw Which Sealed Her Fate Forever.
"Just like Dad. I whistle all the time just like Dad." Now her entire house is filled with the whistling of this young child. Interspersed with, "You know I whistle all the time, just like Dad." One can hear the forced quality to the whistle, but it is quickly being engulfed by a more natural, habitual sound. Years of living with a unaware, prolific whistler are now twice as fun. She inadvertently created a monster.
The moral of this story? Never, ever, EVER drive with Peter or Ethan on a long car trip. Especially if the radio is broken.