Big Pipes, Bloody Noses and a Life Sentence
Thursday, April 15, 2010 at 8:06AM
Sooo, I've been thinking that I'd really like to share some stories with you all about what it was like growing up as the daughter of a Baptist minister. Here and there, I'll post little snippets of stuff I remember (as I recall it! So get up off my case, Oprah. It's not technically non-fiction, but it's close!). Enjoy!
Sometimes as children, it’s hard to tell if your siblings really care about you or if you’re all just serving a life sentence under the same crazy adults who won’t let you eat sugar cereal. Add to that mix that one of those adults is a Baptist minister, another is a stay-at-home mom and there are six of you squished into a tiny church parsonage with a dog and the odd homeless man or refugee your father is currently feeding, and sometimes you don’t know if it’s a life sentence or a cosmic prank. Either way, I survived, but not without some scarring.
Here’s a story of one of those scars:
My older brother, Joe, was all boy and enjoyed the fascinating subjects of tanks, bombs, guns, Karate Kid, Red Dawn, totally radical jet fighters, the Army, and wrestling. He had recently been punished (again) for trying to wrestle with my younger brother, Sam. It wasn’t that the wrestling itself that was punishable; it was the fact that Joe liked to guarantee a win by imposing a “handicap” on his kid brother by hanging him on a doorknob by his underwear. So Joe decided he’d avoid punishment by not fighting at all. Instead, he’d make Sam and me fight each other while he “refereed”.
Even at eight and ten, Sam and I were not an even match. I was skinny and asthmatic, and Sam was chubby and strong, so matches usually ended with me crying and storming away to read a book (The Black Stallion, most likely). Soon, however, Joe tired of this “normal” fighting and decided to add a challenge to our brawls.
The church had a playground filled with swings, bright monkey bars, and--inexplicably-- giant cement sewer pipes that someone had painted cheery red and placed in a soft pit of…gravel. The general idea was that children would enjoy running through those huge pipes or playing hide and seek. Joe had a better idea.
He hoisted first Sam, then me to the top of the tube. “Whoever knocks the other one off first, wins,” he said. Easy enough concept, except even with my rudimentary grasp of physics, I knew this was a bad idea. Sam outweighed me by about twenty pounds.
The first few rounds consisted of Sam charging at me, arms out, while I jumped to the gravel just in time to save myself. Each time, Joe would frown at this cowardice and insist that I get back up there and have a “real fight”. So I did, only to jump down several seconds letter as an eight-year-old bull of a child rushed me with a roar.
Finally, Joe had had enough. “No more jumping off!” he said, and I knew I was in trouble unless I did something drastic.
This time I charged Sam first and grabbed his wrists. We began grappling and pushing, grunting like two smelly, sweaty pigs, shoulders down, legs spread wide for balance, lips tucked in concentration. I was losing the fight in the strength department, but there! Yes! I saw an opening and went for it.
Sam pushed me, and I shifted slightly as he threw his body harder. I used his momentum against him and pushed him to the side. That did it: off balance, he began to fall to the ground.
The next several moments passed in half time. First, I was elated that I had won. I was King of the Mountain, er, Tube! Then, I watched happily as Sam twisted his body to face me as he fell. And then, I stopped grinning as I realized that Sam was still holding my wrist.
Plop! He hit the gravel first, safely on his chubby rear. I hit second, not so safely, on my face.
I heard a great intake of air, and then listened to gravel fly from beneath Joe’s shoes as he sprinted toward me, presuming the very worst.
And yes, it was bad. I already had a pretty horrid case of poison ivy on my face, and now I had a worse case of road rash that spread from chin to forehead. I’d chipped a tooth, and gravel was stuck up in my gushing nose. Both boys’ eyes were wide and held two truths: “I really, really hope she’s ok,” and “Mom and Dad are going to kill us.”
They picked me up to a sitting position and I sat sobbing and bloodied with my back against the cursed Tube of Death. Joe tried to wipe my face a little with his shirt and Sam sat back in shock on his haunches, no doubt wondering which of them would shoulder the majority of the blame for this one.
“I want Mom!” I said, scrubbing at my itchy, painful face. Joe and Sam hoisted me up by the elbows and began escorting me home. I spit out more tooth and snot. “Blech!”
Joe gave a nervous chuckle and patted me on the shoulder, “You alright?”
I nodded. My face was starting to hurt less, and it felt kind of cool to be walking in between my brothers, battered and bruised but a winner, none-the-less.
“Don’t tell Mom, OK?” Joe said, and I nodded again.
“You had me beat!” Sam said with admiration, and I nodded once more, and gave him a small, bloody smile.
That day, I knew that sure, I was serving a life sentence with these two jokers. But I also knew in that moment what it felt like to be included, instead of just there. And sometimes in life, that trumps everything else, bloody noses and all.
Reader Comments (6)
This is such a great story and makes me thank my lucky stars to have grown up with one sister, who I bossed around mercilessly!
Actually, between all the blood, snot, chipped teeth and sibling warfare this is a really sweet story. I loved it!
Thanks! I have an older sister, too, but we never fought or did gross boy things. :)
I have a story to tell. Once upon a time, I got to hang out with my two older cousins. Lets call them S and S. I always wanted older siblings, so getting to play with older cousins was freaking amazing in my little girl mind. S and S, got the bright idea that it would be pretty fun to 'lock' me in a tent we had set up in the back yard. While I sat 'locked up', wondering what was going to happen to me. They riled the much-too-old-for-these-games cocker spaniel up till she almost BARKED. Then they let the wild dog into the 'locked' tent and waited to hear me squeal in fright. I one-uped them though, I had a trick up my sleeve...when confronted by the ferocious-very-old-dog that was almost barking at me, I expertly calmed and petted her until we were cuddling. Then either S or S would admonish me for my craftiness and haul the dog back out of the tent 'lock it' and do the whole thing over again. It was great fun.
The End ;)
Oh my...that S and S were nasty, and at least one S does not remember that incident AT ALL. Wow...we, um, they locked you in a tent?
Crap, I forgot to comment on this when it came out, sorry. It's one of my favorite pieces of yours so far, but I was going to comment like a creative writing teacher...
A- Well done! Nice use of dialogue, description, and childhood experience. Red Dawn!/i>
Thank you, thank you! And yes, Red Dawn...sheesh, he loved that movie.