I covered the ‘what I loved to eat as a kid’ theme in my last post, but conversation with a friend today reminded me of some pretty funny ‘mean kid things’ I did. My brother will remember most of them, and could add to the list I’m sure.
I remember my older brother getting hit in the mouth with a baseball and needing stitches in his lip. As a trumpet player, he was worried that his puckering abilities were compromised. I remember him standing in front of the mirror looking at himself – stitched lip lightly pressed to the shining horn. That’s when I did it. I “accidently” bumped the end of the trumpet back toward his tender injury. I think it was attention I wanted — and that’s absolutely what I got.
I also recall a time long ago that Mom had us dressed up for some occasion. I don’t remember if it was church or something else, but I do remember getting out of the car before Scott, and him leaning out to pick up something that he had kicked from the car’s floorboard to the ground. Body still inside the car and his head between the door-jam, I remember his face as he looked up at me and said, “Don’t you shut that car door!” Never tell a woman what NOT to do — even if it’s a little bitty woman. The outcome is never good.
I can remember playing ‘escape artist’ – a game where our Pap-pa would tie our hands behind our backs and see who could get loose first. I think it was some kind of magician thing, since Scott always thought that was extremely cool. Even though I was much younger, I was years ahead of him in coordination skills. I remember freeing my hands, looking around at Scott who was laying across a chair on his belly, hands still behind his back struggling for freedom — his head pointed toward the floor. That’s when I gave him just the slightest nudge. Without the benefit of limbs to break the fall, he tumbled to the floor, and then complained about having a headache for sympathy when it was all over. Oh well…I’m sure he deserved it at the time.
Seriously! He deserved it! I can remember being on vacation and riding in the back seat of the car traveling to some great destination… forever. Always a victim of motion sickness, I was laying down, my head crossing over on my brother’s designated half of the seat. I can remember him calling to Mom, “Mom – Shelley’s on MY side of the car!” I recall my Mom yelling at me to leave Scott alone; him whining more; her yelling more — and me unable to move because my loving brother was secretly holding me down by the hair.
So right now — are you thinking about all the mean kid things you did? Or by chance are you thinking about those times you were simply a victim of mean kid things?