Siblings! Yay! We all love them, right? RIGHT?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Tell a story about any of your siblings. Any kind of story, it’s your choice. You can tell about them throwing you off of the roof into the pool, lighting your baby blanket on fire, or even about the time you were walking together to school on your very first day and they ran away laughing leaving you scared and crying. :smiley:

Don’t have any siblings? Tell about a cousin or a neighbor’s kid, but there’s only one rule:

All stories had to have taken place as a kid.

So, I’ll start us off here.

I was about 10 and my older brother was about 14. It had just been my birthday and I had gotten a badass Lego castle from my grandmother. This baby was the mack daddy of castles and it took me about three days to build it and when I
finished, I was friggin’ proud! :stuck_out_tongue:

So, of course, my brother decided it would be a great idea to smash it to hell. And he did. And I cried. A lot.

But, when you mess with me, you don’t just get sadness and tears, you get full blown unleashed RAGE. The kind of rage that would make a guerilla fighter in Sierra Leone seriously rethink looking at you.

Anyway, I chased him throughout the house screaming at him. He was probably about 6 feet tall already, and I’m a midget basically, so I wasn’t getting anywhere. We ended up running in circles through the kitchen then down a couple of hallways, through a living room and back, so I decided to catch him as he came back around. I grabbed the closest thing next to me so I could trip him up to beat him down, and what did that object happen to be?

A Firepoker.

Well, I had missed this fact, and when he came around the corner, I swung it. The curvy part on the end went straight into his leg right below the knee. :eek:

Well, we both stared at it then screamed and had to call mom(who was working at a hospital, actually).

Yeah, we both got in trouble, I felt horrible, and I still don’t even know why he destroyed my castle!

2

When I turned thirteen, two of my older sisters (I’m the youngest of four girls) decided that I was on the threshold of woman-hood and needed, along with regular gifts, to be presented with a box of tampons for my birthday. After unwrapping the gift, I immediately hid it under the table. My dad didn’t know what it was and couldn’t figure out what could be so embarrassing. I imagine most female dopers can understand my thirteen-year-old mortification over even bringing up the topic of me ever having a period in front of my dad, let alone having visual evidence of such a topic sitting in front of me.

Possible TMI:On the plus side, that box of tampons did come in handy after wearing pads for the first day of my period and deciding that I didn’t like the diaper feeling. I’ve been a tampon girl ever since.
Earlier the same day, the same two sisters decided to taunt me by chanting, “You have boobies!” I’m not sure what their obsession with me going through puberty was, but I was totally uncomfortable with it. Come to think of it, that probably was why they were obsessed with the topic-it weirded me out.

3

I broke my arm at about 10 years old.

My 14 year old sister convinced my parents that my arm couldn’t be broken, because “a broken arm doesn’t swell, and his is all swollen”. I don’t know where the fuck she heard that, or how the fuck they believed her, but I couldn’t talk them into bringing me to a doctor for hours and hours, much of that time spent crying in pain.

4

When I was eleven or so, my sister threw up in my mouth. It was just like this Spamusement cartoon, only we were lying down. It was the Fourth of July, and we were outside at the park waiting for the fireworks to start. Because she hadn’t really started eating solid food yet, it wasn’t as gross as it could have been, but I had to wait for my dad to go all the way to the concession stand and back to get some water.

I still throw “Yeah, well YOU threw up in my mouth once!” into stupid sisterly arguments sometimes. (We’re now 20 and 10.)

5

Sis and I were totally complicit in one another’s crimes. This may actually be rather a cliché.

We were “good girls.” Our idea of doing something really outrageous that would get us into trouble…grounded no less!.. was to go hang out in a friend’s basement and watch R-rated movies at ages 16 and 13. No booze, no sex…just giggling and feeling like we’d gotten away with something. Which, well, we DID. My parents would have killed us.

So we always ended the evening, standing on the farmhouse porch asking the same question: “What movie did we see tonight.”

You know…your parents think you’re at the movies. I told you, cliché. We’d have to pick something playing locally, which was no easy task in a farm community. We pretty much had two choices. Then we’d have to agree on basics of the plot, which we knew nothing of. And since we were expected to like the same things, we’d have to stand on the porch until we came to an agreement about whether we LIKED the movie, which we didn’t see.

What we DID see, though was “The Wall.” I have sick love for Pink Floyd to this day. And “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Ditto for Jack. At one point…maybe at 17 and 14…someone had smuggled in a copy of “The Devil in Miss Jones.” Even though we were old enough, we didn’t quite get it. But it was an education experience, and not a bad one.

Then we went home and stood on the porch. She asked, “What movie did we see?”

I answered, ‘The Karate Kid?’

“Perfect…old guy teaches young guy to act like a grown up. Dad will love it.”

Later, when we went separate ways, with separate boys, the same meeting took place. We found more humor in it.

“What movie did YOU see?”
“Geez, Mobey Dick, I think.”
“What did YOU see.”
Eh…PeeWee’s Big Adventure."

6

I’m the youngest of six. The two sibs closest to me in age are sisters, three and seven years older than I.

It was always two against one. Older and middle against me. Middle and I against older. But never older and I against middle, for some reason.

My mother, who was an accomplished seamstress, made me and my sisters beautiful dresses to wear to Dad’s company holiday party every year. When I was about four or five, I found on Christmas morning a large doll, who was wearing a copy of my Christmas ensemble – dress, pinafore, frilly anklets, and shiny black Mary Janes. The doll’s name was Connie. (I don’t remember how I knew this. Maybe Mom told me.)

My older sisters spent the entire day referring to me as Connie and addressing the doll by my name. I hated that doll from then on.

Another tale of doll torture…Older sister had a baby doll that was the size of a large infant. It had the kind of eyes that closed then you placed the doll on its back. Middle sister and I were pissed off at older sister for some reason, so we took mucilage and glued the doll’s eyes shut. For many months afterward, the doll looked like it had a bad cold, with all that yellow, crusty stuff around the eyes.

7

Background: I’m the fourth of five kids in my family, and the only male.

This must’ve happened around early 1988. I would have been 6, my second oldest sister 13, and my younger sister 3. My older sister and I were wrestling around in front of the fireplace in our living room while the younger one watched from the couch, clutching a hardcover Christmas-themed scratch-and-sniff book.

At one point my older sister got the upper hand. Here I distinctly remember looking over in the direction of my younger sister to see that she had expertly turned the book into a cinnamon-scented throwing star heading directly for my eyes. I don’t really remember the impact, the pain, or my immediate reaction (more than likely immediate bawling on my part), but 20+ years later I’m still mezmerized at how perfect her “aim” was and how neatly the book was flipping through the air.

Based on how things normally went with my older sisters in those days I thought that my younger sister was aiming for me when I was down. Not so: she was apparently trying to defend me from our older sister (who took sadistic pleasure in mercilessly tickling us both). I was lucky I didn’t lose an eye–those corners were goddamned sharp! Instead, it was bruised and sore for god-knows-how-long and accompanied by several inconveniently boring visits to the ophthamologist.

With the benefit of hindsight and both of my eyes remaining intact, it’s actually quite touching just how much force her little toddler arm managed to put into that book in her ill-fated attempt to help her brother. I guess it’s not surprising that she would have been top seed in our state for women’s tennis in high school, had it not been for some 13-year-old twins from Bismarck who had been genetically engineered to swing a racket.

It is, however, ironic that I am the only member of my immediate family who doesn’t need contacts yet. :wink:

8

Having already told the story of how my brother ran into the glass front door at my eighth birthday party, resulting in screaming kids, a crying mother, me on the verge of a panic attack, and something like fourteen stitches, I am forced to recount this:

I used to be really into 24 in a major way. On the eve of the finale–the one I’d been waiting for for ages, the one I’d been dying to see–when I was sitting perched on the edge of the couch ready to flick the TV on, in came my parents.

If you’ve ever stood in an arena and flourished one of those big red capes in front of a bull’s face, you can imagine the looks on their faces.

We had a lecture that veered off towards an argument and crashed into a fight: yelling, cursing, tears. I was sent, still crying and shaking, up into my room. No 24 finale, not a chance–and no taping it for watching afterwards.

After a couple of hours, my bedroom door creaked open and my little brother, Eric, slipped in a wad of pages he’d stolen from the printer. They were covered in notes and scribbles…

He’d sat down and watched the 24 finale, and taken notes on it for me.

Maybe it’s not a huge thing, but it’s something I still remember years and years later. Sometimes I wonder just how I got so lucky.

9

One of my earliest memories is of me sitting in a plum tree and my sisters arguing on how to get me down.
"You were supposed to be watching her!
You’re the oldest!
Get her down before mama sees her!
You get her down, I’ve been trying!"
Everybody loves me! I remember being pleased.
We moved from that house when I was three

10

Many years ago my little brother and I (about 3 or 4 and 7 or 8 respectively) were massively into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. As most kids of our generation were/are.

We used to play ninja turtles in the yard, which mostly involved running around and jumping everywhere going “Hiii-yah!”

So one day I’m at the table eating dinner, while mum’s got the Boy Child in the bath. She’s come out to ask my father something, when from the hallway comes a gleeful shout of “I’m April O’Neil!” to accompany my nude toddler brother as he hurtles into the dining room.

He’s nearly 19 now, and it’s still a favourite story for the family at get-togethers.

11

Are we related? My brother did this too, at a considerably older age. He was running down the stairs and couldn’t stop in time.

12

It was 1970 and I was an aspiring rock star and songwriter in my early teens, self-taught guitarist, convinced that fame awaited me. :cool: One afternoon, I was entertaining my youngest sister who was 5 at the time. She’d name a song and I’d play it and sing it for her - like She’ll be Comin’ 'Round the Mountain - you know, classic rock. :rolleyes: I was pretty good at figuring out chord progressions, so I could fake my way through anything she threw at me.

After a while, being the wise-acre she still is, she said “Sing eighty-four songs!” in that bratty, little sister tone we’ve all experienced. Well, I showed her - I started strumming and singing. Then I suddenly realized that I was on to something, so I went to my room, shut the door, and turned on my little tape recorder and continued composing. My brat sister’s challenge turned into a cute little ditty that’s the best song I ever wrote. Few people have ever heard it, but I’m proud of it. I have no idea if she’s aware of her part in its creation…

Oh, and I never did become a rock star. See, back in those days, you needed a certain amount of talent and I fell a little short… :wink:

13

I was raised by my grandparents, so my aunt was like a sister, and not always in a good way. She was the youngest of 6, so when I came along 8 years later, she wasn’t thrilled.
When I was about 3 she would sit on me, holding a pillow over my face until I stopped struggling. Then she’d pick me up and chant “Let’s take the baby to the trash.” As an adult, she had no memory of doing that, but I sure did.
When I was maybe 6 she lured me onto the garage roof then took the ladder. I was up there until my grandpa got home. I got in trouble for going up the ladder, but she got in more trouble for taking the ladder away.
Not long after, I when up on my own and jumped off, because I was sure I could fly. She probably convinced me I could.

14

When I was about 5 and my sister was 7, one day I got a simply irresistible urge to carve something into the piano bench. Knowing, of course, that I would get in massive trouble if I got caught, I came up with a brilliant solution: I carved my sister’s name.

It took her at least two hours of crying, wailing protestations, and even a spanking before she finally convinced the parents that she hadn’t done it. I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me. Personally, I thought it was brilliant! :smiley:

15

I have never been spanked, except once, and it is my brother’s fault.

When I was about 5 and he was about 7, he had decided to start popping out of the hallway when I exited the bathroom and scaring the bejeezus out of me. My dad worked the night shift, and we were to be extremely quiet during the day while he slept. One day he popped out and scared me, and I screamed. I sat down in the middle of the hallway and cried - a wailing cry of a 5-year-old girl.

Dad came out of his room, in his skivvies (his sleepwear), picked me up, spanked me on the butt and set me in the middle of my room to continue crying (now over the fact that I had not only broken rule #1 - don’t wake up dad - but had gotten spanked for it).

It may not seem that bad or exciting to anyone else but I have never forgotten it, as it was quite a jar to my 5-year-old self. And it was my brother’s fault.

I blame this incident and him for my fear of fireworks, balloons and horror movies - I no longer wish to be surprised.

16

I was horrible to my sister that was younger than me. She still reminds me often.

I blackened her front tooth by hitting her with a swing and I used to blackmail her and make her do things or I’d tell. Once she said ‘stupid’ and I told her it was a bad word and if she didn’t clean my room I’d tell my mother.

One Christmas I woke her up in the middle of the night and we opened our presents and I told my parents it was my sister’s idea.

I covered her cat with baby powder once so it would be all white and made her cry.

Wow, I was pretty bratty.

17

My brother and one of his idiot friends were in a horror movie phase, and once “met” one of my dates by jumping out of the garage wearing hockey masks and brandishing a chainsaw.

18

When my brother and I were younger, I wrote a story for school. A Christmas story, about how my brother had snuck downstairs one Christmas eve and saw Santa.

I showed him the story when I got it back from my teacher and for years after he insisted on telling it to people like it was real.

He also believed in Santa for a long time, and I pretended to because the one time I told Mom (or was it Dad?) that I didn’t believe… I was told that, then I wouldn’t get all those presents anymore! :eek:

We used to fight like cats and dogs though. He’d bother me (what are younger brothers for?) and I’d get all worked up and start throwing things. Sometimes at him! He has (had?) a scar on his temple where a micromachine semi trailer hit him.

He was also really pissed off that the summer we were visiting Nana in Nova Scotia, we went to PEI to see Green Gables and the play of Anne of Green Gables because I wanted to. It was right at the same time as his birthday.

Havik: I thought that was the point of siblings, to wreck what you build. I had this wonderful Robin Hood lego set, and a few others, but eventually Bro and his friends destroyed them all and mixed them with his sets… I still don’t know where any of the pieces are. :mad: I really liked the Robin Hood set.

19

Hmm. No sibling stories. My brother is 20 years older than me so is automatically disqualified. I do however have a niece only a year younger than myself.

And she talked. And she talked. And she talked. Then she talked some more. You’ve seen the cartoons where there’s a character that just goes on and on?

So one day I get one of her old empty bottles of lip gloss. You remember the ones with the roller ball applicator? I empty 4 or 5 tubes of superglue into it.

OH GLORIOUS SILENCE!!

OH OW! MY ASS IS SO SORE I’M NOT SITTING DOWN FOR A WEEK!

Oh hell yes, I would go back and do it again.

20

My younger sister used to hide against the wall or behind a door and jump out and scare me as I walked through. I still hate that, and have been known to reflexively strike out at whoever is doing the jumping out and scaring me.