And now I will relate the dramatic story of when my brother stabbed me in the back. Yes, he actually did.
There we were on a pleasant weekend afternoon, me, my best friend, and my godbrother (the son of my godparents.) We had spent the hours after lunch turning my room into the perfect 10-12 year old play spot. There was the big pile of LEGOs all over the carpet. The discarded drawing pads from when we had our Most Awesome Jet drawing contest, and a chess game in progress on the bed. Go-bots (the less commercially viable version of Transformers) also made a showing. We were all deep in concentration when we heard a little voice out in the hallway leading to the door of my room.
“I’m gonna kill Danny.” my two year old brother said in a mischievous whisper. The three of us looked at each other, not knowing quite what to expect. On the one hand, Pete was only two years old. How much damage can a toddler do anyway? On the other hand, this was Pete we were talking about. El Destructo. The Terminator. The Master of Myhem. Mr. Booders. (don’t ask me where that last one fits in) Pete was a local legend in the neighborhood for having The most Terrible twos, EVAR. All eyes turned towards the door…
In an explosion of movement, my two-year-old brother kicked the door in and took a flying leap across the room straight at me. As soon as he landed, his hand swung around, and with a wicked scream, stabbed me right in the back with a flathead screwdriver. I writhed in pain, my arm reaching around to pluck the dreaded implement from my abused back. Luckily, it had only broken the skin, not penetrated too far. Pete was still all over me, punching and hitting. A cocoon of horror, writ in pudgy, little hands. I reacted naturally and kicked out, sending him flying back across the room to smash into the LEGO bin, a used Christmas popcorn sampler tin. You know, the ones that are two feet tall and have regular, cheddar, and caramel corn.
So Pete runs out of the room crying while my friends are looking at me in shock; like, “Did your brother actually just STAB you? Yeah…he did.”
The next thing I know, Mom is yelling for me to GET DOWNSTAIRS THIS MINUTE, MISTER! I exchange another look with my friends and hobble downstairs. After I explain what happened, I got the expected dose of sympathy when one nearly experienced fratricide. And that, as they say, is that. Do you have any fun stories of violence among siblings? Now keep in mind that the key word here is FUN. I don’t want to celebrate truly terrible domestic situations. But, everyone has a good story of when their brother attacked them with a tire iron, or nearly blew their ankle off with a quarter stick of dynamite. Stuff like that. So what’s yours?