Key Issues

Was I A Brat?

I look at the way Miss Priss treats her foster brother, and I wonder if I was half as bad - or maybe even twice as bad - to my little brother when we were growing up.

Somehow I think it more justified in my case. My brother was a true hellion. At age 5, he ran around nude (save his cowboy boots and pistol), he ran even faster when being chased with a switch (often adopting Daffy Duck sound effects), he ran away from home (often), he ran off his friends (daily), and he terrorized me the rest of the time.

I was laid back, he was crazy as hell. I was rational, he was anything but. So, I got my shits and giggles by making fun of him until he unleashed his inner Tazmanian devil on my ass.

One day, he was chasing me around the house, as he was bored and had already run off the poor child from next door. I soon tired of his game, stopped, turned and grabbed his nose, like the dorky adults did before taunting, "Gotcher nose!"

...which is exactly what I said before I took off running again. I have no idea why I did that, other than the fact that I hated it when the dorky adults did it to me. But I'm glad I did it, because his reaction was priceless.

He pulled in a shocked breath before demanding, "GIVE. IT. BACK!"

Now he's my brother, so I already thought he was retarded, but this was too much, like winning the lotto. "No way!" I yelled back as I continued running with newfound vigor.

He was on my heels, "Give it back! Waaaaaah! Give me back my nose! MOOOOOM!!"

It was difficult to keep up the pace given my hysterical laughter, but I persevered. Now the "baby" of the family was favored....more was expected out of me, therefore I was seriously punished for picking on the little guy. However, I couldn't imagine catching hell for this, so I have no clue how long I dragged it out...

But I did not tire of running and laughing as he continued to step up his plea for his nose. Finally, his uncontrollable sobbing rendered him incapable of running any further, and he crumpled to the floor in one of his famous tantrums.

This finally drew out a perplexed mom, who had apparently been capable of tuning out the rest. Perplexed, because usually when one child is victimized, the other one fears disciplinary action.

Yet, there I stood, a few feet behind my wailing brother, doubled over in laughter.

"MOM! She won't give it back! Tell her to give it back! Tell her!"

I held up empty hands to my mother.

"What honey? What does she have?"

"MY NOSE! Make her give it back!"

I laughed harder, if that's possible, and mom turned her back and covered her face with her hands to regain her own composure. Once gained, of course, she ordered me to return the nose.

I must have sported a most incredulous look, as I wondered how I was going to do that. She read it apparently, and prodded, "Just do it!" I think she just wanted out of the room so she could let out the breath she was holding in an effort to stifle laughter.

So I looked at the flailing pain in my ass and poked him in the nose. "There!" I said, and then waited for a reaction to the placebo.

He sniffled, pulled himself together, and walked away, giving me the mom sided with me stare.

(And I remained amused, already anticipating the day he'd be old enough to appreciate his own reaction, which would then be broached mercilessly...)