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GloPro's avatar

What terrible things did you do to your siblings?

Asked by GloPro (8311points) April 5th, 2014 from iPhone

What terrible things did they do to you?

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19 Answers

Jonesn4burgers's avatar

When I was four I bashed my little brother in the back of the head with a big chunk of cinder. We had a coal burning furnace, and there was lots of cinder scattered around. It didn’t knock him out, but that stuff is sharp, and gave him a good gash. He bled freely for a while. When he let out that scream I knew I’d had it.

GloPro's avatar

I bit a chunk out of my sister’s back. I remember thinking I deserved being bent over my daddy’s knee.

talljasperman's avatar

We pulled each others hair and tormented each other at every chance that we could.

Coloma's avatar

I had no siblings, I was an only child. I did torment the neighbor kid, great fun. lol

Pachy's avatar

My younger brother says that I once locked him in a closet. I don’t remember that—but then it’s been like 60 years.

Seek's avatar

My brother and I used to get into pretty violent fistfights. A couple of times we fought with knives, but never actually cut each other.

Oddly enough, he is the only member of my immediate family I still talk to.

Imadethisupwithnoforethought's avatar

My older brother would hold my sister down when she threatened to rat on us for beer parities. I would find the most objectionable socks in the house. We would threaten her with them as gags until she agreed to keep her mouth shut.

Berserker's avatar

I don’t have any siblings. :/

Berserker's avatar

Not anymore, anyways.

cazzie's avatar

My sister scared me when I was about 3 and I fell onto a hay rake and have a nasty scar on my chin. My brother used to hold me down and blow in my face. The same sister responsible for my scar used to verbally berate me and say really mean things in front of people, so I would physically attack her. She never got in trouble for the verbal abuse, but I got the wooden spoon on my butt for hitting her. I got her back once by pulling a chair out from her when she was about to sit down. Boom, went her more-than-ample bottom to the floor. She always somehow flew under mom and dad’s radar with her smoking and drinking, sex and drugs, and I was the one who would get in trouble for coming home a half hour late but was a goody-two-shoes. Still don’t care for that sister too much. When we were teens and I slugged her for saying something really mean to me, my mother said, ‘Why don’t you ever hit her back.’ to which my sister replied, ‘I’m saving it all up. One day, I’m going to kill her.’ Evil bee-atch.

Inspired_2write's avatar

Ignored them, and now THEY are wanting to talk ?
They are older and I am the youngest…..perhaps old “guilt” or wanting ME to take care of them?
Who knows…only the shaddow.

Jonesn4burgers's avatar

I ate all but two of them. I should have gone one more.
My first husband was from a litter of boys, robust all, and two were older than him. He said he got tied to a tree a lot, and they wouldn’t let him go until after he peed.

JLeslie's avatar

I guess her perception would be that I ignored her sometimes. I was older, and sometimes would go off with my friend’s, and she was younger and more lonely I think. Or, I was just doing older girl things and she might have been uncomfortable at times or unable to do the same things. When we were both very young we mostly played together, and I was very nice to her. I shared with her all the time and I used to spin her around, and we would play together. Once in a while we would fight, but I don’t remember a lot of fighting. I asked my mom a few years ago if I fought with my sister a lot when I was very little and she said, “no, when your sister wanted something you had and she started to whine you would say, here take it, mommy doesn’t like noise.” LOL. I don’t even remember saying that.

GloPro's avatar

It was my sister’s fault I ended up in the ER with a peanut shoved up my nose.

Espiritus_Corvus's avatar

Every once in awhile in our neighborhood, when I was a kid, one distraught housewife or another would sound the alarm that there was a peeping tom lurking about at night. This happened a lot as I remember. So, this one time my brother and I, never missing a chance to be heroic, set out to catch the guy and reap the unending gratitude and heartfelt appreciation of the entire neighborhood, especially the girls in our age group and their mothers.

It was a good plan. While our parents went off to Tahoe for the night, Mike and I strung a network of clear fishing line throughout the backyard and hung a bunch of mom’s pots and pans on it. This was our combination alarm system and peeping tom trap. Then we got our sleeping bags, flashlights, and BB guns and camped on the roof of the house with a good view over the back yard. Our big sister—our oblivious babysitter—would be in the living room watching TV as usual. The couch she would sit on to watch TV had a bay window behind it opening out to the backyard. We made sure the curtains were half open—just enough for her to maybe not notice and just enough to maybe make her good bait to a peeping tom. Of course, with the two of us on the roof, he’d never get near her. We knew that, because we thought of everything. And we had BB guns.

It was going to be a cinch. Once this guy got tangled up in the fishing line, we’d paralyse him with a constant barrage of BBs untill the cops came. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Trying to outdo my big brother as usual, I added my own stroke of genius into the mix without telling him. My dad had left a big pot of engine oil in the garage, a remnant of the last time he changed the oil in the family car. I had carefully placed that pot ever so precariously on the eight-foot tall backyard gate so when the peeper entered our yard, it would slam down on him and he would be drenched in motor oil. In case he escaped our other securty measures, this would surely identify him.

We spent the night up there on the roof with our rifles trained on the dark yard, each taking his watch while the other slept and… nothing happened. Just before dawn two very worn out, disappointed snipers dismantled the whole apparatus in the back yard and put all the pots and pans away nicely, then snuck off to bed before our parents got home.

I clean forgot about the oil. That day the temperatures hit in the high nineties as the August sun baked the Sacramento Valley. Around 2pm I was inside the house getting a drink of lemon aide when I heard one of my little brothers scream. I ran outside to find him standing in the gateway next to the upturned pot screaming in shock and covered in oil while my mom was frantically spraying him with the garden hose. Amazingly, he wasn’t burned, or so as you could see it. It mostly just scared the living shit out of him—and my mom. But she knew intuitively that I had a hand in this somehow. She figured if it was weird, sudden and inexplicable, I was probably part of it. And she was usually right.

After sending my little brother to soak in the tub and me to my room to await further punishment, she conducted a thorough investigation and the entire covert operation of the night before was exposed. Immediately came an avalanche of charges. My big brother got in trouble for abetting me and planning the operation and my sister got in trouble for serious deriliction of duty. Both were competely blindsided by these charges as my brother had been, at least up to the moment oil fell upon my other brother, blissfully secure in knowing that we’d covered our tracks—those that he knew of, anyway. And my poor sister had no idea what was going on in the first place, so remained ignorant until punishment was inexplicably heading her way. But I was adjudicated as the head culprit due to my particular role in the mission, the part that actually endangered my little brother, and as a result I was left without an ally in the family, just a very freaked out, slightly burned little brother, one very upset parent, and two potential assasins.

I could have seriously burned my little brother if that oil hadn’t been sheilded from the sun by the roof eave. As it was, he was just slightly scalded, leaving only some signs of reddened, irritated skin for a day or two. We were all very lucky. Always.

My dad gave me the belt for that one, and I think I lost some privileges.

I don’t remember ever doing anything really mean to my sibs on purpose. I mean, we all shared a very keen sense of justice. I could easily find myself outnumbered six to one. Then would come the swift wrath of my parents if the infraction required intervention beyond our system of intra-sibling vigilantiism. It just wasn’t a practical thing to do.

Jonesn4burgers's avatar

Wow! I’m sorry about your brother, but, what a great plan! That took a lot of work and planning! I hope your parents took into account how nobel were your intentions.
I think it’s a really sweet story, and I’m glad you shared it with us.

GloPro's avatar

@Espiritus_Corvus Wow. That is genius hilarious terrible. I’m glad your “slightly burned little brother” wasn’t really hurt! Your story is straight out of Ralphie’s diary. Was it a Red Ryder BB gun?

Espiritus_Corvus's avatar

@GloPro Daisy. But I did have a Radio Flyer red wagon for a time. And thank you.

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