Anyone that grew up with siblings knows that it’s sort of the job of the older sibling to torture the younger ones. Well, I took that job very seriously. Don’t get me wrong, I love my younger brother and couldn’t imagine not having him around but when we were growing up, torturing him was like my favorite pastime. It drove our parents’ nuts!
There’s about a 3 and ½ year difference between us so by the time he was born I was very happy being the only child. I liked our routine and that I didn’t have to share my Mom with anyone. I was thrilled when I visited him in the hospital but I apparently thought he was supposed to stay there because I was pissed when they brought him home. I literally told my Mom, “Take him back!” I suddenly had to share my room with a screaming baby who had colic and there was baby stuff everywhere. Plus, I thought my Mom was much too busy taking care of him so I wanted him to leave. When he was a baby my Mom left the room to answer the phone and left him lying on a blanket on the floor. My little evil streak came through and I stole the poor innocent baby that was my brother and put him in the little garbage can in our bathroom. I’m horrible, I know. I even left him there and went back to my movie in the living room. Poor kid. He wasn’t in there long as when my Mom came back in she asked me where he was and I feigned innocence claiming to not know. His piercing scream quickly led her to his location, covered in dirty tissue. It’s safe to say I had a particularly long time-out that day.
What’s sad is that’s not the worst thing I ever did to him. It was just the first thing I did that showed my Mom what she was in for. I once even told her to, “take his batteries out” one of the days he seemed to cry for hours on end. She didn’t find that too funny at the time but now thinks it’s hilarious! I wasn’t always mean though. When he was old enough I helped him learn to walk using my toy shopping cart. Although the joke now is that I had an ulterior motive, since the torture really began once he was fully mobile. He was like my own personal entertainment even though I would get in trouble each time I did something to him. I either didn’t learn my lesson or it was just too much fun to get him into crazy situations. I think it was the latter but who really knows.
Being a crazy daredevil boy he was into climbing trees but never went too high. Well, at least not when I wasn’t around. One day in particular I kept coaxing him to climb higher and higher. For some reason he always listened to me (talk about not learning your lesson) and went much too high for his age. He freaked himself out and was too scared to climb down. He was clutching the tree for dear life and crying his little heart out. I at least went to get our parents though, so it’s not like I had a heart of stone and left him there or something. My Dad and his friend had to climb up the tree to get him down. It wasn’t THAT big of a tree anyway, but big enough that a ladder was used to retrieve him. At first my Mom thought he got himself into that situation but he quickly tattled and I was back in time-out for “trying to kill your brother!” I wasn’t really trying to kill him, maybe trying to toughen him up a bit. Insert evil laugh here.
I think the worst thing I ever did was burry him alive. Yes, I buried him. In our backyard. Up to his chest. That’s normal sibling behavior right? Ok, maybe not but it was funny for me at the time. I don’t remember why there was a huge hole in our backyard but I think it had something to do with sewers being installed. Anyway, I convinced my brother to get in the hole and I filled it in around him. He was completely buried up to the middle of his chest, arms and all. He couldn’t move and started to panic when he realized I probably wasn’t going to un-burry him anytime soon. I would have, eventually but he was driving me nuts that day throwing nasty worms at me so I was getting him back. It was completely even revenge really. He eventually started screaming and my Dad came outside and was seriously pissed that I buried him. He tried just pulling him out but it turns out I was a good dirt packer back then and he had to literally dig him out. My Mom was mad when she got home and found out what happened and I got the whole, “don’t you ever burry your brother again! Ever!” I’m convinced most kids probably hear that at some point in their lives.
The good thing is he’s a completely normal young man now so it’s really okay. I didn’t traumatize him and he wasn’t mister innocent either. He had his fair share of torturing me in his day. Oh, I also painted his toe nails once convincing him it was normal. He then went to the pool with plenty of people around with bright red toe nails. My Mom wasn’t too happy with that either. Neither was my Dad. Something about not turning his little boy into a little girl.
Basically when my husband and I have children, I’m completely screwed. My Mom always told me, “you’re going to have kids just like you,” when I did things that drove her nuts so my kids are going to be burying their siblings and getting them caught in trees as cross dressers.
My family must have a good sense of humor though, because we all find these stories to be hilarious now. I also protected him a lot when he was really little. It was kind of a whole ‘only I could torture him’ thing I had going.
Was any of this normal? Seeing it all written out makes me wonder if I was a seriously weird child.