i was the youngest - so stuff was usually done to me
but (and this isn’t as mean as it is selfish) while my sister was living with us and suffering from a brain tumor, i was not there for her, and refused to acknowledge her fear while wallowing in my own self pity
I have no siblings, but my mother told me a horrible one about she and her sister.
My mother and her sister were almost exactly a year apart in age. When my aunt was about ten, and my mother nine, my aunt claimed that she was so thin she could stand between the front door and the screen door when they were both closed. Fast forward several months. My mother comes into the living room to see my aunt standing in the doorway, looking out the screen door at something in the front yard. Remembering what my aunt had said, my mother crept up behind her sister and slammed the front door behind her. My aunt was not as small as she’d claimed, however. Her face went through the glass of the screen door.
My sister is a good bit older than I, so there wasn’t a lot of meanness I could inflict upon her. But she was spanking me once and broke her favourite hairbrush on my bum. I laughed. She cried.
Wow. Can I have your autograph?
Oh my, my poor brother. Well, he could be quite the brat to me a lot of times, but I was worse to him. Once when I was about 10 and he was 7, we were playing in our front yard, and a couple neighborhood bullies came down the street and started yelling threats at us, to which I yelled back, “You’d better go away, I know Karate!” (and I actually did - I’d been taking lessons for about a year at that point). Well, of course they didn’t believe me and replied, “Yeah, right!” so I said, “Ok then, I’ll PROVE it!”
I still don’t know what posessed me to do this, but instead of hauling off and belting one of them, I turned around and roundhoused my brother right in the gut. He hit the ground like a pile of bricks and started bawling instantly. My mom heard him and came running out to see what was going on. The bullies exchanged a look of horror and ran away.
Boy, did I ever get in trouble for that one. Bro was fine aside from a sore tummy for a couple days. But those bullies never did bother us again. I bet they thought, "If she’ll do that to her brother, what’ll she do to us?? "
Oh good god. I let out a huge laugh at that. That’s brilliant.
Oh, I just remembered another one. This isn’t as bad as the kick to the gut, but cruel all the same. I was about 7ish, and I think my brother had just started Kindergarten. I had recently learned the dreaded F-word and decided to use it to my advantage, so the one day I called my brother over.
Me: Psst! Come here! I have to tell you something.
Bro: What?
Me: (whispers in his ear) Fuck.
Bro: (wide-eyed in wonder) what’s that?
Me: I can’t tell you. But go say it to mom.
Bro: Why?
Me: Because it’s funny. She’ll laugh. And if she asks you where you heard it, tell her from the big kids at school.
Bro: Ok.
I hear him trot down the hall to find my mom.
Bro: Mommy?
Mom: Yes dear?
Bro: Fuck!
Mom: WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT!?!?!
Bro: (sobbing) fr…from the big kids at schoooolll…
Mom: GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!
Oh, I was a mean one, I was. But he was pretty dumb. 
I was the youngest of three, and my next-oldest sister was pretty mean to me: punches and pinches (hard ones!), taking stuff of mine, insults, mockery, etc. Can’t remember much now - PTSD has a way of taking the edge off of really bad memories 
I do remember that there were times when, if you’d put a gun in my hand at just that moment, I would’ve shot her dead without a moment’s hesitation. It got to be a joke with my parents that we should never be seated next to each other during a meal, as we’d always start picking on one another.
The day I got a lock on my bedroom door, to keep her out, was one of the finest moments of my young life… fortunately, we get along fine now.
Mostly.
These aren’t terrible, but actually pretty funny, at least to me. I can’t take all the credit, though I was, unfortunately, the mastermind – my other sister still helped in these torments on our littlest sister.
1.) We took white pepper and coated a piece of Extra peppermint gum and carefully rewrapped it. We gave it to her and as soon as it hit her tongue, she started crying. No chewing, even!
2.) We used to play Robin Hood. I was Robin Hood, littlest sister was Maid Marian, and other sister was Sherriff of Nottingham. We would usually tie up my little sister and then go about various fights and duels. When we got tired of this, we went inside and played Nintendo, leaving her tied to a tree or locked in the playhouse on numerous occasions (my mom was home and usually found her pretty quickly). I guess it wasn’t just to siblings – we did this to a (male) babysitter once too, and went and played while he was tied up!
A variation on this was playing hide and seek, making her hide, and never seeking.
3.) We taught her that giving someone the finger meant “I love you”. Classic.
Another time, I told her that “f*** you” was a congratulatory birthday greeting, so when I was opening my presents and they were taking video with the new camcorder, my sister popped up and said it. They made me re-unwrap the presents to re-tape it!
Amazing that she still followed us around and has always been very good natured!
Christmas day 1977 I get exactly what I want from Santa. A Spiderman webshooter. It is basically the mechanism from a suction-cup dart gun that mounts on your wrist and it has a string that attaches between the dart and the mechanism (web!). So in love with this toy I was that I had to go bug my sister with it who was busy upstairs in her bedroom with her new Holly Hobby arts and crafts kit.
I must have bugged her too much cause she chased me out of her room and down the front stairs. I got to the bottom of the stairs first, turned around and fired the webshooter at her. She’s in mid stride halfway down the stairs when it hits her in the eye, blinding her, and causing her to tumble the rest of the way down the stairs (carpet covered). I didn’t think it was that bad but she started bawling her lungs out. Dad appears, asseses what happened and promptly takes the webshooter (less than 6 hours old) and breaks it in two with his bare hands.
I was devastated and my sister just smiled at me and glared with her evil eye (she still had her hand over the casualty).
I did find a webshooter last year on e-bay which I intended to buy and bring to our next family get together but bidding got up to $35.
Thank you.
Because of a really terrible divorce between my parents, I was left the man of the house when I was 15. Soon after, I got a job at a grocery store and bought myself a small pickup truck that I was very proud of. I absolutely refused to let my little brother ride in it at all. My mother was pretty powerless because I paid for it and was more stable than she was at the time. My mother insisted that I start letting my little brother ride with me to school. I said fine, he could ride in the bed of the truck. That is the way it was for the next two years. He had to ride to school in the back of the truck rain or shine. Everyone laughed at us and I thought it was great. There wasn’t much to hold onto back there so it was great fun slamming on the brakes or makingh a sudden swerve.
I have two brothers. We didn’t do anything to one another for fear of what our father would have done to us when he got home.
As an adult, I moved out of the country and got married and acquired a nice life, a good job and moderate prosperity. One of my brothers hates me for doing that, and leaving him to deal with the decline and death of his bitter, alcoholic father, and the shrew with whom he made a baby, and his inability to get and hold a job. Now he’s the one in the family who isn’t doing very well, and he can’t look down on me anymore. We haven’t had a civil conversation in a decade, and I don’t think it’ll get any better.
Well, my contribution’s a little lame, now that I’ve read this thread, but back when I shared a room with my two sisters, my one sister and I used to line up shoes by our beds (and this was the 70s so we’re talking big, wooden, platform shoes) at bedtime, so that we could hurl them at my other sister (who, by the way, had mental retardation) when she started snoring in the middle of the night.
They sell them in toystores now. They shoot silly string or water.
I however was a good boy and never did anything mean to any of my siblings.
I will never have children after reading this thread though.
Well, I never did anything too horrible to my brother, but I still get the evil eye from my mom about this one.
My brother had two cowlicks growing up that no one could control - one in the front of his head and one in the back. They were adorable on him when he was little. When I was seven and he was four, we were at the baby-sitter’s house and she had a pair of garden shears - LARGE garden shears - on her porch. I told my brother that his cowlicks looked stupid, and Mom said I should give him a haircut. So I did. With garden shears. I cut both cowlicks off close to the root.
I got my seven-year-old ass kicked when my mom got home.
However, considering when he was eleven and I was fourteen, he chased me around the house with a butcher knife, then laughed when I called my mom at work to make him stop and she said I was making it up, I think it wasn’t harsh enough on him. I should’ve cut it all off.
E.
First:
One time I told my younger brother that I had something really cool to show him outside. I make him close his eyes (“so it’ll be a surprise”), and I led him out. He should have gotten suspicious when I started telling him, “take a small step forward…now half a step to the left…no, too much…there, look down.” And of course, he was standing in dog poo.
And another time, he and I were playing a game we had just made up. We had taken a 50-gallon drum and were setting soda cans on it. He had a length of metal pipe, and I had my BB gun. He would hit the can at the exact same time I shot it - we thought that was giving us maximum destruction of said can. The beautiful thing, though, was that we were standing directly opposite of each other. One time, our synchronization was a little off, and he hit the can before I shot it. With no can, the BB hit him instead, right in the stomach. It was an accident, but I laughed anyway.
My brother, age ten, wiped his bum on my pillow, knowing full well that it would gross me out awfully and that it wouldn’t occur to my seven-year-old self that I could get another pillow, so I thought I would have to sleep on his skid-marks.
So I took one of his model airplanes, one that he had spent days gluing together from little plastic parts, and held it over the stairs, saying that I would drop it if he didnt’s stop polluting my pillow. He just laughed at me. I close my eyes and let go, and the plane broke again into 300 pieces.
It was the only time I struck back, and it was the only time I have seen my brother cry.
He was too angry to beat me up, so instead he just got my collection of baseball cards and tore every single one to shreds. (Actually, they were “poetry-pictures”, romantic pictures of cats, flowers and pretty girls. It’s a Dutch custom for schoolgirls to collect those, and paste them in in each others albums. But I’ve translated them to baseball thing, as that conveys the same feeling). In the end he got tired and began using scissors.
And then there was the time my brother choked me half to death with a pillow over my face…and the time we fell so hard against the glass front while fighting door we fell richt throught it, breaking the glass…
But the meanest thing he did to me was pretend not to know me all through elementary school and highschool. He was afraid that being associated with dreamy, eccentric, socially awkward me would ruin his reputation.
Nowadays my brother and I would hardly see each other, if it weren’t for his girlfriend and my fiancé, both fun, warm and socially outgoing people. They make familygatherings nice enough, when they would otherwise be civil at best if it was just my brother and me.
Oh, here’s one:
My brother and I were both in the bathroom doing our hair before school started. He complained that his hair didn’t do what he wanted it to in the front and I convinced him to let me have a go at it with my curling iron. I had him sit on the toilet so that he couldn’t see the mirror and I roasted a big ol’ curl right on top of his head, then finished it off with a touch of hairspray. He looked like a very tall Munchkin. When he saw what I had done, I had to burn him several times with my curling iron before I was able to escape the bathroom.
my parents should have learned that rule. my oldest brother used to steal food off my plate. one time i stabbed the back of his hand with my fork.
yeah. time heals all wounds.
either that, or our memories are shot.