Being an asshole is genetic.

Whistling isn't an easy talent to master.

I don't mean having the ability to whistle, most everyone knows how to do that.  I mean actually carrying a tune and matching a pitch; that kind of whistling.

My father has mastered this art.

Most of the non-embarrassing memories I have of my dad involve him whistling.  That sentence makes it sound like he's dead; he's not.  He is fully alive and still embarrasses me nearly every day with his dadisms.

Anyway, if Tom isn't talking/laughing/blowing his nose obnoxiously loud, then he's whistling.  And he is good at it.  The whistling, not the nose blowing.  Not that he's particularly bad at blowing his nose, I just don't have a proper scale with which to measure his abilities.  Let's just say he's no worse than your grandpa, but he's better than a baby. 

I have gotten off track a little bit.

Back to the whistling.

My dad whistled while he showered, which I feel is the most common form that whistling takes.  He whistled while reading the newspaper, while watching the news, while mowing the lawn, while my mom was yelling at us for breaking someone or something, and while cooking.  I honestly don't know how he was able to pay attention to anything and keep his whistles in perfect tune.  Which, now that I'm thinking about it, probably explains why my mom paid more attention to/raised us.

Growing up, anytime Tom would whistle, we would all respond to him with our own whistles.  Have you ever heard 6 kids whistle simultaneously?  Oh and terribly off key, might I add.  It's a fucking nightmare.  It makes you want to rip your own ears off, then throw them at said kids.

This is why my mother made another rule for our family.  There is to be no whistling in the house, unless we could whistle like our father.  This is 100% true, and to answer your question, yes, this rule is still in effect today.  When Liz puts her foot down, it's forever.  That foot will never again be lifted. 

If you were caught whistling, my mom would say, "If you can't whistle like your father, then shut up."  Now don't get me wrong, my mom is a funny and amazing lady.  It's just that my parents had two-thirds of a baseball team on their own, there had to be rules, or it would have been chaos. 

Now, to this day, Liz swears that she never said shut up, but it's my memory so I'm pretty sure I'm right.  Also, my siblings will back me up on it.  Unless she is standing right next to them, then they take her side.  Which is typical.  I really can't blame them, though.  It's self-preservation.  I get it.

My mom constantly telling us to stop whistling made me want to whistle that much more.  Which is kind of ridiculous, right?  You have no urge to do anything until someone tells you not to do it.  Like when you see a sign that says "Wet Paint. Do NOT Touch."  Well, when my day started, I had zero intentions of touching this wall.  But now? Now is a different story, I must touch it.  What do you accomplish by doing that?  You just get paint all over your hand, and no way to get it off of you.  Do you feel in control at that moment?  Kind of, if you ignore your paint covered hand.  Why must it be this way?  Why can't your brain just be like, "Yeah, okay.  They said don't do it, so listen to them, respect them.  Just don't do it.  Walk away."  But that is not how human brains work.

With Liz's obvious disdain for our shitty whistling, I knew there was only one option.  That's right.  Learn to fucking whistle. 

Oh and did I ever.

Anytime my mother wasn't within earshot, I was practicing.  It took years and years.  I finally mastered it my Freshman year of college.  Liz was obviously not around, so I could whistle whenever I wanted to.  I perfected it.  I showed off my talent during Christmas break that year, and my mom's only response was, "You're good at that."

THAT'S IT?!

"YOU'RE GOOD AT THAT?!"  That is the only reaction I get from you woman?!  I have been practicing for years to rub it in your face that you can no longer tell me to stop whistling because I can now "whistle like my father," and you had zero reaction?!  It really shouldn't have surprised me, but it did.

Fast forward about 5 years to a Sunday dinner at my mother's house.  I was whistling while setting the table and she mentioned how good my whistling was, and I snapped.  I told her that I only learned how to whistle because she said unless we could whistle like our father, then we had to shut up. 

It was in that moment that my mom realized she raised an asshole.

Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #4:  Don't try to outfox your mother.  She will always win.  Use the tools and knowledge she has given you on your friends and coworkers to gain back some of the power in your life.  Seriously, just stop challenging your mom.