Corny

In Kindergarten, little kid had to write a list of things he was thankful for. His list consisted of:

Mom
Dad
His teacher
Our dogs
Corn

Big Kid was highly insulted.

"I ranned out of room. You was gonna be under corn," little kid explained.

Big Kid has hated corn ever since. We cannot have corn for dinner without going over Corngate 2011 again.

"He loves corn more than me," he brought up again the other night. 

Still all self-helpish and empowered from yoga teacher training, I decided to mediate the situation.

"little kid, how do you feel about your brother? Why don't you tell him right now?" 

"I love corn."

 "Okay, you don't have to do anything, I just wanted to give you the time to say it if you wanted to. I think it will be sad if you can't tell each other you love each other as adults because you're just not in the habit of doing it." I said, going back to my dinner.(Steak, and delicious, and Mr. Ashley had it waiting for me when I got home.)

"I love him," he said, if not a bit begrudgingly.

"Then tell him that!" I said. "Don't tell me." 

"I love you," he said, after glancing up quickly.

Big Kid smiled, pleased but also uncomfortable now that he got what he wanted. "Thanks...but I want you to love me more than corn."

"He doesn't wait anxiously for corn to come home from school. He doesn't want to switch schools, and leave all of his friends for corn. I think his actions speak louder than his Thanksgiving list from Kindergarten. He said he loves you. How do you feel about him?"

"I love him."

"Do you want to tell him that?"

"I love you. I just wish you loved me back."

"He does love you back, he told you so."

"But not more than corn."

"But he loves you. Little kid, do you love Big Kid more than corn?"

"Hmmm. As much as corn," he conceded. 

"Okay, I'll take what I can get. I hate corn though. If I had to choose between kissing Hitler or corn, I'd pick Hitler."

"Okay, it's enough. The point is that you both love each other." 

"But not more than corn." little kid had to add.