He was 7 years old, two years younger than me. When he was a baby I was a mommy's helper. I gave him my favorite teddy bear. I let him suck on my arm when he was a slobbering teething mess. I let him knock my blocks over and watch Transformers when I wanted to watch 3-2-1-Contact. On Saturday mornings, I gave him rides on "the big blanket" and dragged him on the floor while he giggled. He'd pick his nose and wipe it on my bedroom walls at bedtime but I lived with it. He was my baby brother.
That all ended when he became a demon. By the time he was 7, he became my nemesis. He was gross, dirty, loud, spastic, and a boy. He did fart noises and punched me all the time. My friends and I rode bikes and colored chalk pictures on the sidewalk. Sometimes we made little bracelets out of braided glass or played four-square. My brother did things like climb trees, break things, get in fights, decimate my dolls (especially via The Troll Incident which I will tell you about someday) and nearly burned down the house.
Boys don't hold grudges, so they were still friends. Boys do, however, like to torment their sisters. Like when I was left in charge of him. I took that responsibility seriously. I liked to give him fake homework to do and long-winded lectures on why he needed to behave better as a person. So when I instructed him to stay inside until our parents got home, he immediately ran outside and went to play with Simon.
How dare he not respect my authority! I paced back and forth, fuming, and planning the tattling I was going to do when my parents got home. I marched over to Simon's house to tell my brother he was going to get in trouble. But I needed some evidence, and I knew they were in the backyard, so I climbed onto the roof to spy. What I saw .. well it was maybe the greatest moment of my life.
Dad is going to KILL you!They turned around, looked up at me, shrugged and kept going. I climbed off the roof and ran home to tattle. I just loved the words rolling off my tongue.
Dad, Dinsey and Simon are in Simon's backyard. Setting fires.Every syllable was delicious. My dad's reaction was spectacular. The visit by the fire department was like a magical unicorn made of ice-cream. It was that good. Dark clouds of smoke rose above Simon's house and could be seen for miles. The air smelled of gasoline and sisterly glory.
Innocently reading in my bedroom that night, like a good girl, while my brother got spanked and grounded, well it was everything I'd hoped it would be. I turned the light out, and fell asleep with a smile.
B is for Bratty Brother. B is for Bossy-boots Sister. B is for Bonfire. Burn baby Burn.
Do you have any childhood memories like this? Were you a pyromaniac or a tattle-tale?