When You’re in the Mood for a Story

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Fighting Twins

Zelda and Zeus Zaxton were born exactly three minutes and twenty-four seconds apart, but no one could remember who came first. That was the first argument.

“I’m the oldest!”

“No way! I display maturity beyond my years, I’m clearly the oldest!”

“All your years—we’re kids! Plus, I’m way more organized, so that makes me the oldest.”

“Coordinating your markers in rainbow order does not make you organized, it makes you boring.”

Their mother, who was chopping carrots in the kitchen, had heard this argument before. She sighed. The Zaxton household was not a picture of tranquility when those two got going. Their mother didn’t waste time rolling her eyes. Instead, she employed another trick to move beyond the state of exasperation caused by their squabbles. She put down her cutlery, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and went to her “happy place”.

Her happy place was imagining Zelda and Zeus as adults—content, healthy, resourceful grown-ups. She couldn’t really picture them not fighting anymore, but she clung to the hope that maybe this arguing could lead to something good. Maybe they could become Lawyers and argue innocent people out of jail. Maybe they would become Philosophy Professors—waxing poetic the laws of science and nature and the human condition with their students. Maybe they will become stars in the Debate Club and go on to win state tournaments and collect full college scholarships and then…go on to become President of the United States! Oh, how exciting! But they’d better be co-presidents, because their mother could already picture that fight now:

“I will be President—you can be Vice President.”

“I don’t want to be Vice, you be the Vice!”

Their mother sighed, her spell broken. Maybe they could just work in the Claims Department of an Insurance company.

One might wonder why the twins didn’t just ask their mother who was the oldest in order to settle the score. But the twins knew better than to debate with their mother. As soon as they turned on their official “Persuasive Voices,” mother would get a faraway look on her face and politely ignore them while folding clothes. It was no fun. School provided much more entertainment.

Their report cards were consistent:

·       “Zelda has a passionate spirit.”

·       “Zeus is always willing to champion a cause.”

·       “Zelda is a bright, imaginative child.”

·       “Zeus has quite the prolific vocabulary.”

Unfortunately, the report cards always contained a second sentence that usually began with the word “However…”:

·       “Zelda has a passionate spirit. However, Zelda should be mindful to channel her passion into creative play at recess verses trying to persuade her teacher to extend recess by two minutes.”

·       “Zeus is always willing to champion a cause. However, Zeus would do better corralling his efforts into finishing his homework instead of trying to argue his way out of doing it in the first place.”

·       “Zelda is a bright, imaginative child. However, Zelda should be reminded that her creative ideas (including, but not limited to: a full-on paint war in the art room, barefoot gym class, candy-only lunch hour, reading in Pig-Latin during literature time, etc.) cannot all be pursued during any given school day, no matter how hard she presses her case.”

·       “Zeus has quite the prolific vocabulary. However, please remind Zeus that comparing a classmate to “a monkey’s steaming, hairy armpit” is not an effective way for reminding a classmate to shower, even if said classmate thought it was hilarious.”

The twins really were colorful wordsmiths. They were especially wonderful at synonyms. They could say yes in seven languages (oui, da, ya, ja, sí, evet) and no in just as many (non, nyet, nein, nej, hayir, tidak), and possibly more, since “no” is fairly universally understood.