I hate to admit this--but I wasn't always the best of kids. In fact, I did some things that weren't too nice to my little sister. I also did a few embarrassing things, I pulled some pranks and did some silly things just for fun. I guess I should come clean--it's about time, don't you think?
It all started with hamster poop, yes, that's what I said, hamster poop. My very good friend who lived a couple doors down was my co-conspirator, we (as 6-year-olds) wanted to do something evil to my pesky little sister and this is what we came up with. My friend had a hamster and we all know that hamsters poop. So, why not take half of a walnut shell, put 2 little poops in it, fill it to the top with sunflower seeds and then tell your little sister that if she wants to play with you--she has to toss that concoction right down and chew it all up.Afterward, of course, we told her what was at the bottom of the shell. Well, she ran home crying and screaming about how I had made her eat hamster poop. Yes, I did get into trouble, but it was so worth it. What a mean big sister I was.
And then there was the day that (I think I was about 9) I found out that my cousin was adopted. It was a shock to me--first off because I didn't know what the word meant and secondly she looked like me. So, if she was adopted, then what about me? We both had long brown hair and brown eyes, we looked like my dad's side of the family--so what was going on here? I was afraid, and out of that fear came the next not too nice thing I did to my little sister. Don't feel too sorry for her, she kind of deserved all this. Really, I'm not kidding. I then did what any normal big sister would do--I told my little sister that she was really the one who was adopted. After all she had blond hair and green eyes--even our mother had blue eyes, so who did she look like? I tried hard to make it all sound very logical. I got into trouble for that whopper too. I blame her. I can't for the life of me figure out why when we reached the teenage years she didn't want anything to do with me.
My mother doesn't know this but at the age of about 14--I began what I will call my lying stage. Yes, I am ashamed to admit that for a couple of years there, I lied. There, I said it. OK, it had been going on for a while. Want to hear about some of those lies? I guess at my age I can look back now and just thank God every day that I wasn't murdered or raped during those tumultuous times. One of the biggest lies that I told my parents had to do with my whereabouts. As in--I'm going to her house but really I'm going to walk along the levee late at night and go hang out with my friends who were partying, doing drugs and drinking. I could tell many a story having to do with drinking excessive amounts of cooking wine, but just the thought makes me a little nauseous.
Thankfully I was much more of an observer than a participant at the parties I went to, I rarely took part, but wanted to belong so badly. I wanted to be part of the cool crowd, so against my better judgement I went along. I can honestly say that I was pretty innocent during my teenage years. One funny thing I did though was to soak the label off my bottle of Mug root beer--you know, so it would look so authentically real. I'm being transparent here--don't laugh too hard. I also used to light a cigarette and hold it just so in my hand--to look oh so cool. I never inhaled though, I was too afraid. Maybe my personality was the type that walked right up to the line but never crossed it.
Kid stuff--thank God I lived through it. Kid stuff--it can be fun and it can also be one of the most dangerous times of a persons life. Kid stuff--silly at times, hurtful during other times and a bit scary too.
I'm glad I survived the kid years. But, I'm also glad that I have lots of stories to share. Especially the funny ones from when I was little. And I'm thankful that I lived through the teenage years unscathed--maybe I should be glad my parents lived through it too. Or maybe I should be thankful that I lived through my kids--kid stuff.
Regardless, we all go through kid stuff, we all have stories to tell--but I really don't think I want to hear my kids stories--I don't want to know that they were probably just like me. Or do I?
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