I neglected my story-telling duties last weekend but I’ll try to get back on track tonight. Friday night until Sunday morning are my time to tell old and not-so-old stories before parenthood melts them from my brain. My youngest brother likes to tell stories about how horribly I abused him. If I wanted to abuse him I would tell the blogosphere that his nickname for his boy parts (because we grew up in a censored home) was “teeter”. I keep meaning to teach his 2-year-old son that one. A popular legend is that I trapped my brother inside an appliance box. First of all, we are talking about a small boy and a HUGE box. Secondly, this assault took place in the kitchen of our home with our Mother 2 rooms away listening to everything with her super-human mom hearing. Finally, imagine the activity that went with this dialogue:
“Hey Matt, want to get in this box?”
“Yeah!” he climbs in with sibling assistance
“Hey! Lemme out! Let me out!” shrieks of indignance
“OK, you’re free.” he is lifted out but remains standing beside the box
“Want to get back in the box?”
“Yeah!” entire scene repeats a half dozen times before parent shouts for us all to go outside