Childhood

There's a time for everything, but I can't seem to find which time is meant for doing actual productive work. I don't know, there are just days where I feel a push to do something, to accomplish something, and there are days that I don't.

And I think we've all come to realize that the days you have a drive to succeed are usually the days when you don't have such an opportunity to succeed, thus leaving one in a constant state of frustration - either forced to work when not wanting to, or unable to work when desiring to do so.

Ok, enough of that serious tone and on to more humorous/trivial things.

Ok, since my creativity appears to once again be at a low (likely due to sleep deprivation), I think it's time to tell childhood stories. Hmm.

(not actually a picture of me)
I was a mischievous child, always getting into trouble and driving my parents up the walls. Strangely enough, of my sibling I had the easiest birth (or so I am told), and my line-toeing goody two shoes of a brother had the hardest one, with other sibling(s) in various stages in between. I suppose we felt a need to make up for it.

When I was 4 years old, my father borrowed a blowtorch for a bit of work. His mistake: leaving it well within my reach, on top of a 6 foot (about 2 meters) tall fridge. I still don't know how my under 2 foot tall self got up there, but he caught me with the blowtorch on, about to strike a match and blow a hole in the wall behind me... as well as my face. Oops.

I, of course, blamed it on my sister. She was two at the time. She was a devious one, all right. I think she was trying to get rid of me, figuring she would take my place as our parents' favorite. Of course, I wasn't the favorite anyhow, but she was two at the time, so I suppose we can forgive her for a bit of faulty logic.

And then there was the incident about a year later by a friend's house. I was over for a "playdate," as it were, and was rather enjoying myself without getting into too much trouble. Anyway, that day they were moving a cabinet with a glass door into a different room.

I think you can all see where this is going.

Anyways. Obviously, as they were moving the cabinet, the door swung open, crashed into a wall and bang!

And as they all stood there, mouths gaping open, I piped up. "This is the coolest house ever!"

And then there were the times my mother thought it was a good idea to take me shopping. There was the time I ran away and hid for close to an hour - I wasn't allowed to go on any shopping trips for almost two years after that, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.

But there was the time before that point, where I decided to have a little fun. You all know of those bins, the ones used for storage, right?

Yeah, like this one, although the ones I'm referring to were round (sorry, couldn't find a good pic)

In any case, I thought it would be a great idea to turn one over and run around underneath it. It probably made for quite a sight - the bin, moving erratically with two feet sticking out of the bottom. And there was my mother, feeling rather upset and more than a little embarrassed at the time (though now she laughs at the memory) yelling at me to get back there.

I'm told there was an old fat man standing nearby who saw the whole scene and just doubled over, laughing uproariously. I don't know why I feel the need to add that detail, I just feel like it completes the picture.

So, yeah, I was trouble. Though perhaps not as cruel or as original as my siblings could be: I'm told that my sister forced my brother (who is 3 years younger than her) to play with dolls with her, then blackmailed him into doing what she wanted by threatening to tell his friends he played with dolls. Now that's devious!

In my case, however, I was simply rambunctious - and I don't think I've grown out of it yet, or that I ever will.

-hyperbole out

all pictures from pixabay.