Best Friends?

The Defendant:
Evan Richtsmeier, age 3
Crime: attempted fratricide

The Victim:
Grant Richtsmeier, age 10 months
Proof of the crime: screaming his head off.

Scene 1
Me: "Evan, what did you do to Grant?"
Evan: (remorseful gleeful) "I pushed him."

Scene 2
Evan: "Daddy, Grant's crying in the kitchen."
Me: "What did you do?"
Evan: (proudly) "I was riding him and he fell down."
Proof of the crime: Grant's bloody gums recently face-planted into the tile floor.

Scene 3
Wendy: "Evan let's get out your LEGOs." She walks to the closet to get the LEGO container. Evan starts to voraciously collect rubbermaid tubs and boxes in order to build a bunker worthy of Moammar Quadhafi.
Evan: (screaming) NO!!!! Don't pour them out yet! I haven't finished building my wall so Grant can't touch them."

Scene 4
Pediatrician: (innocent fool who thinks that my son is cute) "Evan, who is your best friend?"
Evan: (without missing a beat) "Grant is!"

I have two boys. And maybe I'm the sucker of the year, but I honestly think they just might be best friends. My youngest son, Grant, gets a Xanax-style dose of happiness just by having Evan in the room. He thinks its funny when Evan comes running at him and pushes him into a pile of pillows. He won't eat his carefully crafted bowl of gummable food unless Evan is eating. My oldest son, Evan, has to be held in confinement in our room every morning so Grant can drink his bottle in peace. There are many mornings where Evan lies in bed next to me whimpering about how he just wants to go see Grant. When Grant finishes his bottle without the interruption of Captain Corrupto, Wendy yells down the hall, "Green light, Evan!" And Evan subsequently goes sprinting down the hall so he can see Grant as if he's never seen him before.

Now it is possible of course that Evan has confused the concept of "best friend" with a very similar concept called "interactive whipping boy." Let's be honest, subtle distinctions are not the traditional arena of three-year-olds. Evan has a room full of stuffed animals, but nothing is so dear to him to tackle, throw across the room, yell right in the face of as Grant. But I think there is good news for Grant on the horizon. And that good news is called: genetics. I think that while Evan pretty much picked up an average build from the gene pool of life. Grant, on the other hand, inherited my freakishly tall torso and Wendy's very long legs, which queues him up to be about 6'9" 280 pounds. Give it about 15 years and things are not going to go well for Evan. I have a feeling you get both these boys past puberty and the scales are going to tip in a very distinct direction...

The Defendent:
Grant Richtsmeier: age 15
Crime: attempted fratricide

The Victim:
Evan Richtsmeier: age 17
Proof of the crime: dislocated shoulder, broken nose, dislodged tooth, and the look of shear joy that can only come from getting beaten up by someone you truly love.

The Scene
Me: "Evan, why is there blood all over the floor?"
Evan: "Cause Grant punched me in the face."
Me: "What else did he do?"
Evan: "I think he dislocated my shoulder and busted one of my teeth."
Me: "Grant, what the hell heck is wrong with you? Why would you beat the crap out of your brother like that?
Grant: "Because he's my best friend."