Tormented Tattletale

Anyone who has been paying attention to this here blog, is well aware of the fact that I was a little on the wild side as a child. I would like to let you know that it isn't entirely my own fault. I can't put all of the blame on Cindy Brady either. (See "Guilt Of A Girl" below) I feel there is plenty of fault left over for my siblings.

As the youngest child in the family, I was basically tortured, dropped, teased, smacked around and hated by teachers.

At school, I suffered for all of the bad stuff the other kids did. When teachers saw another member of the Lane family come through those doors at St. Whack 'Em On The Knuckles, they already made their judgments and planned out their own forms of torture.

At home I was the baby. Spoiled rotten, but only by my parents, which really pissed the others off. Don't worry, they got their revenge.

Lookout! Here comes another flashback!

I just turned 5. For my birthday I got the first 10 dollar bill I ever saw up close. (Yeah, a little poor and a lot deprived.) I really didn't want to spend the money. I just wanted to look at it, until I found out that money could buy candy.

I talked my brother Mark into taking me to the corner store. (Same store as in "Me And My Big Fat Mouth", see below.) For the low, low price of $5, he took me. Boy oh boy, did he take me!

Back then, candy was less than a quarter, so you can imagine my surprise when I found out how much candy I could purchase with the remaining $5. Mark wouldn't even carry my bag of goodies because he was too busy stuffing his face with his.

When we got home, I sat outside on the stoop eating Pop Rocks, minding my very own business. My sister Angie and a neighbor boy came along and asked what I was doing. I thought it was obvious but explained anyhow.

My sister gasped and said, "You can't eat those! Look at the back, the ingredients, you're gonna die! It has Carbon-DIE-oxide in it! Nice knowing you nerd!"

Her eyes were really wide and serious looking so I believed her. I spit frantically, trying to get them all out of my mouth. I handed her the rest of my candy to hold while I tried to save my own life.

Pop Rocks were stuck to my lips and tongue and were popping insanely. I was terrified. I went into the house to wash the poison out of my mouth.

My mother asked what I was doing and I thought, "How am I going to break the news to her that her baby is going to die? She will be so upset!"

From the bathroom I yelled, "Mommy I love you very much! Please don't ever forget me! Mommy, I don't want to die!" and I bawled like crazy.

She came into the bathroom to find out why I was crying and blabbering nonsense. I told her what Angie said and she got that look on her face. I wondered at the time why she didn't start crying. I was dying for Christ's sake!

She yelled out the window for Angie. She sounded really mad. When Angie came upstairs, she got into big trouble. I mean, BIG trouble. The kind of trouble that made my mother take her slipper off and beat some serious ass. My mother beat a per syllable lecture out on Angie's ass, which is how I figured out that I wasn't really dying.

When her beating was finished, knowing I had a few good years left to live, I asked Angie where my bag of candy was. She and the neighbor boy ate it all. That news made me bawl as if I were dying... again.

Our mother returned to our bedroom to find out why I was crying. When I told her that Angie ate all of my birthday money candy while I was washing the poison away, Angie got the slipper treatment again.

When Mark finally came back in the house, he made the mistake of not littering and had pockets full of candy wrappers. When Mom asked where he got the candy, and he didn't answer, I helped him out by telling her. He also received a per syllable spanking.

It's a wonder they didn't kill me. Thinking back, I know I was a pain in the ass. But they started it!