Childhood Torture

Childhood torture.

What else would you call the years I endured growing up playing with my older sister and brother. And I use the word playing loosely. It was more like I was the guinea pig, the one they sent into danger first and the one they always tricked into believing them. As the youngest aren’t you supposed to be doted upon and looked after by your older siblings? Well, if this is the case it was the exact opposite with my brother and sister.

My brother never wanted a baby sister. Instead he wanted a little brother and a buddy to always follow him around. My sister, on the other hand, wanted a puppy. But here I was wrapped in pink, a bow in my hair and there to stay! Once they figured out that I could be used to do their “dirty work” they were not so against the fact that I was not a boy or a cute, sweet puppy to be their constant companion.

Since I was obviously not a boy nor a puppy I was stuffed in closets, dressed up as a hockey goalie and bombarded with pucks, and made to believe my brother and sister were alien robots on the path to destruction. I was not “cool” enough to have a tea party in the hot tub with the underwater mice or fast enough to catch up with my siblings when they took off to the park. Some might say, “What a gullible little girl you were,” or "Deal with it ‘cuz that is how all older siblings act towards the youngest child.”

I, on the other hand believe I was taken advantage of and tricked!

Since my sister was the oldest she was the one put in charge while our mother ran short errands, had lunch with friends or just needed a short time away from her rambunctious three kids. We had a hot tub and a pool in our backyard and they were the perfect summer setting that provided countless hours of entertainment! We would jump in, splash around and do water handstands. It wouldn’t be long until my brother and sister strapped on their goggles and would spend countless minutes underwater. I too wanted to go under and see what all the fun was. As soon as I ducked my head under they would come popping up laughing hysterically.

“What is so funny?”

“There are mice underwater!”

Looking below the water I saw nothing, ABSOLUTLEY NOTHING! Where were they?
“There is nothing there,” I would say.

As they ducked underwater once again and came back laughing, I just could not understand what I was missing.

“They are under there and they are having a huge tea party. You just can’t see them because you aren’t cool enough. They don’t really like little blonde girls!”

Getting mad and stomping out of the water was the usual reaction while I heard laughter and snickering behind me. When my mother returned she would always reassure me that mice could not have tea parties, and they certainly were not underwater having them.

Well twenty-four years later things have changed and I am no longer being stuffed in closets and my siblings do not wish I was a puppy or a boy. And while my years of childhood torture ended long ago I am now “cool” enough to have that underwater tea party with the mice!

By: Lacee Jones