Ah the joys and tribulations of growing up the oldest brother. I’ve always been bigger than my little bro. Not that he’s scrawny. Not by a long shot. I’m just bigger than him. This often came in handy for a variety of reasons. You see we used to fight. A lot. We fought like cats and dogs. Like two brothers. Of course we loved each other (not that we’d ever admit it), but we still liked to fight. My brother being smaller than I am would fight dirty. So I often had to take advantage of my size and put him in his place.
We lived in a fairly large subdivision. The land behind our house belonged to the builder who did the original bunch of houses in the subdivision. This was their staging area, their stockpile area, etc. There were often cool bulldozers, front end loaders, and dump trucks for us kids to crawl all over. Sometimes if we were lucky the doors would be unlocked. Oh how many times we would sit in the seat of a bulldozer and pretend we were running over our “enemies”.
Since this area was a stockpile area, there were often large piles of dirt and loam. One such pile stayed around for a long time. It stayed so long, us neighborhood kids named it. I can’t recall the name at the moment, but it was probably something cool like “MountDoom”. Something like that. We used to climb to the top and horst around. Of course horsing around leads to dares which leads to “King of the Mountain”. We would play “King of the Mountain” for days. We’d push each other around on the top of this hill hoping to knock everyone else down and be able to keep them down with a combination of dirt clods and well aimed kicks to the face. One afternoon it was just me and my brother playing on top of the hill. Of course we were playing “King of the Mountain”. I had just suffered a crushing blow from my brother (the cheater) when I got mad. I don’t often get mad. It leads me down a path I don’t want to go down… So I got mad. I picked up my little brother, pressed him over my head and threw him off the hill. Fortunately he bounced a couple of times on the way down. Unfortunately his head hit a rock. Remember from my post What I believe is the first stupid thing I’ve ever done, I commented on head wounds? Yeah, they still bleed. A lot. From all the blood that was soaking my brother’s shirt, coming from the back of his head, I was sure I had killed him.
Wait! What’s that? He’s moving! Oh no. He’s really mad. Oh. Crap. Fortunately I was able to stop him from killing me, and was able to steer him towards home. I of course followed along well behind. I knew mom was going to kill me. There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to take one look at him and launch into a full out Warrior Mom scream and take off my head with one swift kick. But no! She’s bundling his bleeding head in a towel. They’re out the door to the car to bring him to the hospital. I’m still alive! Wait. She’s just prolonging the agony. She’s going to kill me for sure as soon as she gets home. Oh why didn’t I have a sister? I’d have NEVER thrown a GIRL off a mountain.
I am proud to say that I was not even punished for that bit of horsing around. I think somehow in the rush to get my brother to the hospital, get him x-rayed and stitched up, she forgot all about me. Today 5/23 is my mom’s birthday. This post is in honor of how awesome she has always been to both me and my brother.
What sort of trouble did you get into as a kid? Any good punishment stories? Comment below!