No, but very seldom in my life. I’ve taken to talking my parents through the trauma as they still deal with him for the sake of their grandkids.
It’s been great fun reading this thread as much of what he did to me started on this level and I like having the yardstick to say “Yes, I reacted normally to the normal stuff & correctly to the fucked up stuff.”
ballardfam, I meant to say earlier - I’m sure a lifetime of memories more than makes up for one outburst - forgive yourself already.
I made them eat braaaaaaaaaaains
Great! Bravo! (Uh, looking around and quieting down…“golf clap.”)
Every afternoon my mother would send me out of the car to go get my little brother at kindergarten. I’d walk up the walkway to where the teacher, standing in the open door, would be giving out jelly beans to all the kids filing out for “being good,” “being smart,” “being…there?” She’d smile at me and I’d smile at her. When bro came out I’d put my arm around his shoulders. A few steps away my arm would tighten around his neck and I’d say Gimme yer jelly bean. I don’t think he knew he could refuse.
Whenever we were allowed a treat I’d say “I’ll get it,” knowing full well my bro knew I’d take the larger portions. He’d scream No! Let me! and rush into the kitchen. Sometimes it took him forever to cut the pie slices just right. All I had to do was sit in front of the TV and wait for him to serve me.
My mother, tho, told us about the time she got HER brother, our uncle. He liked to come in from working outside and drink directly from the kitchen faucet. So one time, while my little brother was still a baby, she smeared poop on the tap.
You can’t beat crazy.
I feel guilty to this day.
I was the eldest of four and was horrible to all of them, but my little brother was the target of most of my nastiness.
We shared a room until I was 10 and he was 5. He had a snoring problem. It drove me crazy not being able to sleep so to stop him at first I would roll him over; eventually I would punch him in the head.
During that time I decided to make him piss himself in fear. I waited until he was asleep then hung a sheet over the ceiling lamp. This one backfired as I woke up to get a glass of water and saw this ghostly figure floating in the middle of the room and nearly died. He, however, had also woken up and thought “why did Jim hang a sheet on the light” and gone back to sleep.
Psychological torture: filled my little sister’s Barbie doll’s head with ketchup. Replaced it, waited until she was playing with it, burst into her room with a hammer and smacked Barbie on the head. She went hysterical. Hanged my other sister’s favourite teddy from my bedroom window so it was tapping on the window of the living room where she was playing. She went hysterical.
My brother once got busted for stealing chocolate cookies from the cookie tin on top of the fridge. Ever after I knew I could steal them with impunity because he’d get the blame.
I would pin him down, sit on his chest and do various horrible things:
Pin him down and fart on his face (an oldie but a nasty).
“Chinese water torture” - basically tap him on the forehead rhythmically for half an hour. It would indeed drive him nuts to the point of screaming and impotent attempts at violence, and he’d end up with a red lump where I’d been tapping him.
Pin him down and push marshmallows into his mouth until they came out of his nose or he threw up.
Stole and ate his and my sisters’ Easter eggs.
I used to bang all my siblings repeatedly on the top of the head with the soft part of the palm of my hand until they cried, then laugh. I did this because I could say “I wasn’t hitting them, I was bouncing my hand off their heads” and “I didn’t use my fist” when I got busted.
I stopped doing all this abruptly: one day when I was about twelve or thirteen I found myself sitting on the stairs not knowing how I’d got there. My brother was lying on the living room floor bawling his eyes out. I was concerned for him, and went in and asked what was wrong. “What do you mean what’s wrong? You headbutted me!” he cried. Sure enough there was a bruise on my forehead and an even bigger bruise on the top of his head. I must have butted him so hard it gave me minor concussion or something, because still don’t remember doing it. That scared the hell out of me, because despite everything I’d done, I loved my siblings, and it scared me what I might be capable of. I stopped bullying them forever.
I tormented the hell out of my little brother. Including:
-Eating Every.Single.Marshmallow out of a box of Lucky Charms and watch him sob as he sifted through disgusting oat kibble for precious dyed sugarblobs.
-Having my best friend pretend to be our dad, call our house and tell my brother to do all sorts of humiliating things.
-When my brother went through that phase where he wanted to ‘marry’ our mom, I pointed out in a movie (that he was probably far too young to be watching) that people who stick their tongues in each others mouths are giving a ‘married kiss’. That night I heard my mom shriek at the top of her lungs; apparently he tried to give her a ‘married kiss’ when she was kissing him goodnight! :eek:
-My brother was terrified of being pinched. Other forms of injury (being hit, poked, arm twisted, etc) did not deter him as much as the sight of ‘pinchy fingers’. I quickly capitalized on this by threatening him with a pair of pliers every time he refused to do something I asked of him.
-Convinced him that we had an older brother ‘Andrew’ who died of a horrific accident (cause of accident changed many times depending on the situation- stuff like Drowned in Pickle Factory, Eaten By Sharks, Turned to Stone From Seeing a Girls Private Parts, etc). I would tell him our parents were so despondent from the loss they never talked about him, and coped by denying he ever existed. My brother was INCREDIBLY curious about Andrew, and would hassle our mom about his mystery brother. My mom, not surprisingly, got increasingly irritated about it, which seemed to make my brother all the more convinced Andrew did in fact exist, and our parents were covering it up.
I didn’t have any younger siblings, but I have four children who devised various ways to torture each other. One of my boys used to hold his younger brother down and breath Cool Ranch tortilla chips into his face until he was ready to puke. Poor guy is now 32 years old and the smell of them still makes him ill.
My two oldest boys used to tease their little brother mercilessly by threatening to take him back to the brother store. Now that he knows there’s not a brother store, he finds it funny to joke about it, but when he was little, it would torment him.
OMG, you people are psychotic! :eek:
I’m so proud. 
Baby sister is six years younger. When we were about 14 and 8, she cracked my bedroom door panel during a fight. I got six months of excellent blackmail material out of that.
I know right???
I thought spraying kerosene on my brother was bad. :eek: