This happened to me when I was 3 or 4 years old, I had just gotten out of the bathtub and was drying off when my sister Nan came in. She said her and mom had just got back from shopping and they bought me a real big present and it was in her room. Then she asked me if I wanted to go look at it, being the gullible little kid that I was I said “you bet!” We walk into the room and my other sister Jay is sitting on her bed, talking with 3 or 4 of her friends. Of course I should have known something was wrong right off (no big present anywhere) but like I said I was awful gullible back then. As I’m looking around for my present Nan yells, HEY LOOK AT THIS!! and she whips off the little towel I had wrapped around my waist! It wouldn’t have been so bad but they all started laughing at me!
This is why I always say, never trust a sister.
When I was 12 and my brother was nine, he tried to kill me.
Threw a pair of Mom’s sewing scissors at me as I was walking away from something stupid he just said and the scissors embedded in the door frame by my head.
There were other incidents, but that was the closest call.
Litte bastard.
Ah, the traumas of having siblings. That sounds so mean, what they did to you, Jeffro!
I have two older sisters, so I got all sorts of crap. I guess the worst from the middle sister was when I was about 14, she wrote comments in my diary. I had written the typical teenage angst, and she had the audacity to not only snoop through my diary, but to write in the margins “Well, you wouldn’t feel that way if you did this and this…” And of course, she was totally unrepentant that she’d done it. She was really good about invading my privacy, messing with my stuff, and saying “it was for your own good”.
My other sister, the oldest, was just a bully. I remember when I first started painting, I had an easel and paints set up in the bedroom that we all shared. Apparently in the middle of the night, the oldest sister got up for something, and in the dark, accidentally splaced her hands in my palette. (I didn’t cover the oil paints on my palette, it was away from the main traffic areas in the room.) Anyway, when my sister “messed up” her hands on my palette, she smeared her hands all over the painting I was working on. I still remember the painting, and how it looked in the morning, completely ruined. And of course, as usual, it was “all my fault” that it was ruined! (Whenever my sisters bullied me, it was “my fault”.)
I have a million of these stories.
My brother hit me over the head with a golf club. I had to have stitches and couldn’t get my head wet for a week.
Of course, having been the annoying little sister, I didn’t move out of the way when he told me to.
Now, I’m sure my little brother could tell some stories about me. Thank God he’s not on the boards. That way I can keep up my sweet and innocent facade. 
My sister had the most amazing knack for doing rotten things to me and getting me in trouble for it.
I am still trying to figure out the time my sister bit me on the chest and I got sent to my room.Other than the usual cruel taunting and various psychological torment of youth…
When I was about 4 or 5 years old I refused to pick up my toys, I forgot why but I just didn’t want to. My dearest older brother, nine years older, picked me up and held me upside down by the ankles, and of course I was crying and screaming the whole time, until I agreed to pick up my toys.
More recently I’ve grown to hate my sister. I have a stuffed animal that means the world to me. My first serious boyfriend, the first guy I ever really loved, gave it to me for our one month anniversary. Well about half a year after he gave it to me, I was still carrying it around with me, it was my adopted kid, I was really attached to it, besides it was all nice and soft. I had to go on a religious retreat for three days. I debated taking it with me but I didn’t because I thought I’d lose it. When I got back the stuffed lizard (Lucifer Bob Nothorian I, by name) was nowhere to be found. I searched the house, I searched the garage, I cried over that thing.
Fast Forward One Year to a couple weeks ago
My sister had taken it and hid it in her closet because she was mad at me. She wasn’t planning on giving it back either but my mom found it when cleaning out her room.
Kitty
Hmm…my sisters haven’t really done mean stuff to me. (I’m the mean one. Anna’s bitchy, but not particularly motivated to do anything about it.)
They have done the normal breaking stuff that is important, Anna once destroyed a school project of mine just trying to play with my paints. But spite induced actions aren’t real common.
Me? The meanest thing I think I ever did, above and beyond basic older sis stuff, was hang Anna’s Bunny. She had a beloved stuffed Bunny and I constructed a noose and hung it from her light in her room when I was mad at her. (Probably for destroying my Lord of the Flies project.) She was not happy.
On the other hand, no one messes with my little sisters and lives to tell about it. I mess with my sisters. Other people can over my dead body.
I locked my little brother into a coffin and tossed him into the river. I wonder if he ever got out.
My sister is 10 years older than me, and was always rather big-boned. One day when I was 5 or 6, we were playing Barbies in the basement. This involved me playing with them and her cutting their hair and removing their limbs, then me crying. After a while, that was kind of boring. So she pinned me down with her knees on my legs and one arm across my chest to hold me, then force-fed me fritos corn chips until I puked.
She swears this never happened. But why would a kid make up something like that?
I know the feeling Kathryn. I can treat my sister like shit, but no one else better.
Ah, where do I begin?
Let’s see, my sister is sixteen and a spoiled, snotty brat who needs to be taken down a peg. According to her, I’m ugly, smelly, fat, stupid, a loser with no friends whose only life is the computer, I’m stupid and I don’t do well in school, I have horrible tastes in music and movies and books, etc etc etc…
She’s nice to me when she wants something…that’s it.
Meanest thing I’ve done to her? I once tied her to a chair when she wouldn’t stop bothering me.
When I was four or five years old I was practicing my latest trick on the swing set on our back patio. This consisted of getting up to speed on the swing and then standing up on the seat and grabbing the crossbar between the chains. After grabbing the crossbar and building up speed, I would then lift my feet up and let the swing go back and forth underneath me. Eventually I would catch it again with my feet, then sit back down and swing again.
My oldest brother was passing by and I asked him to watch my new trick. As soon as I was hanging from the crossbar, he took the opportunity to grab the swing in mid air and hold onto it. I held on as long as possible until I had no choice but to drop directly down onto the concrete floor of the patio.
Gashed my chin rather nicely, I did. Back in those days, boys weren’t supposed to care about whether stitches looked pretty, so I got just three of them for a one inch laceration. The scar is still rather prominent on the underside of my chin. Nice Frankenstein style one, that has led me to believe that many people automatically think I am a violent person (even though I am not) because of what looks like a fistfighting scar on my chin.
Do you think he even said that he was sorry? Do you think he got punished for it? Needless to say (then why say it?), my oldest brother and I never really became friends in our lives and to this day do not have any real relationship.
Mean people can cram it with walnuts!
Let me start off by saying, my brother kicks ass. Love him to death–he never ceases to impress me with the man he’s become.
When I was about 5 and he was 3, I had this little record player that was my prized possession. The only records I had were Romper Room and Sesame Street and Strawberry Shortcake story-type albums, but I was in love with the record player. My brother got mad at me because I wouldn’t let him hang around with me and my best friend Bethany that day, so when I left my room, he came in and stomped every single one of my records to pieces!
Little bugger didn’t even get in trouble for it, from what I recall. We still laugh about it to this day. It was kinda funny after the fact, because one of the Romper Room songs was about “tippy tippy tip-toeing like a mouse”, so we changed the words to “stompy stompy stomp-stomp through the house.”
My older sister, kiffa told me that the fungus I touched growing on the silver maple tree would grow all over my body. I naively believed her and spent several sleepless nights wondering how I’d look as a fungus.
Unintentionally, kiffa dislocated my elbow. She and older brother picked me up by my arms and ran around in a circle so that I was spinning like a top. But she tripped and kept hanging on. Ouch. Mom finally caught on when I woke up the next day in the same position as I sent to bed (arm clutched across my chest).
I paid her back by being the usual pain-in-the-ass kid sister. I think I scalped one of her dolls, too.
I am the youngest of 4 boys and paid the price.
My brothers would constantly beat me up, to the point that even today, if someone acts like they’re coming toward me angrily or are about to hit me, I flinch terribly.
My brother closest to my age, Jesse, was the worst. He’d beat me up and throw rocks at me if I refused to play with him. One of those forced play times he wanted to wrestle in the front yard. I was 8 and he was 12, a very chubby 12. Basically, my palm was flat on the ground and my forearm was going straight up into the air when he decided to bodyslam it. CRACK Double fracture in my forearm just like that. My bone was poking out a bit, but didn’t break the skin. He blamed it on me.
The worst part? My other brother, Hector, who is 6 years older than I am saw my arm, sat down next to me, looked at me dead in the eyes and said, “They’re gonna saw it off and replace it with one of those metal claws!” To a EIGHT year old! When he was 14! The little fuck. Nowadays, he says I should get over it.
[sub]Fuck no.[/sub]
My brother and I get along wonderfully, and are close.
However, this was not always so…my job- after school and full time in the summers- through middle and high school, was to babysit my very hyper brother. Neither of us liked this arrangement, since I had better things to do with my time, and he resented the hell out of me being in charge. So we argued a lot, and I ended up with a lot of bruises since I wouldn’t hit him back. (" He’s six years younger than you, you shouldn’t hit him" bet if I was his brother…) One day when we were about 16 and 10, he got upset with me because I was trying to do my homework, and refusing to entertain him. So, while he was sitting across the room from me, he called my name. As I turned my head to look at him, he threw the left over piece of steel tracking my parents had used to install sliding doors- and it hit me in the temple. That hurt like hell. Later that night my mom saw the odd “u” shaped bruise, and demanded to know how I got it, since it could have been a serious injury. The little twerp didn’t deny throwing the metal at me, but insisted it hit * the other side of my head* and that he wasn’t responsible for the mark. For some reason, my mom didn’t believe him. I know there were worse things, but that one comes quickly to mind.
On the other side, I got fed up with him when he was about 8, and changed his mind about what he wanted for lunch. He didn’t want the baloney he’d asked for, he wanted a PBJ. So I made him a peanutbutter, jelly, and baloney sandwitch. The expression on his face when he took the first bite was priceless.
The middle sister, the one who’s twelve years older than I am, once got high when she was supposed to be babysitting me. (Well, she got high any time she felt like it anyway.) She pushed me across the room and I crashed into a full-length mirror. This was before safety glass, so instead of shattering, it broke into three jagged pieces. Amazingly, I wasn’t hurt. She laughed while I stood there dumbfounded, then made up some bullshit story for our mom, who apparently bought it.
I’ve forgiven her, though, because after she rehabbed in the 80s, she called me for the specific purpose of apologizing for all the horrible things she’d done in that era. It was so amazing for anyone in our immediate or extended family to even acknowledge that I am a person and not a housepet, I cried. You’re good people, Vicki.
Gotcha beat. My brothers pushed me into a closet and tossed Grandpa’s WWI-vintage hand grenade in there with me. I didn’t know it wasn’t armed.
I’m the oldest, so I’ve never really had to go through anything as bad as what you guys are describing. However, I have played a few tricks on my little brother.
My favorite was about a year ago, when he was 9 and I was 18. I got up for a drink of water in the middle of the night, and there was a full gallon of milk in the fridge. I opened it and set it on the counter, then went up to his room and woke him up, and said there was something in the kitchen he had to see. When we got into the kitchen, I told him to bend over, set the open jug on his back, and went back to bed.
I’m still not sure how he got himself out of it, but when i came back to check on him in 30 minutes, he was watching tv on the couch and the milk was back in the fridge.
When I was four and she was eight, my older sister told me that if our mother died,she got to live with our grandparents because she was good. I, on the other hand, would have to go to the orphanage because I was bad.
She came up with that at the age of eight.
I got her back-I hit her with a swing and she had to get stitches.
I made my sister claustrophobic.
I stuffed her into a sleeping bag, then put it into a plastic garbage can, then pushed her down our long staircase.