|Future blogger at age 7. Mother to his right.|
Sister he attempted to kill only partially exposed.
(Photo courtesy of a friend)
That's only the tip of the iceberg. I was much worse. Here's one story. I once was trying to have an adult conversation with my mother as she was cleaning out the bathtub, and my sister Mary kept interrupting us because she was supposedly thirsty. Frustrated, I finally handed her a bottle and told her to drink that.
It was Clorox.
You wouldn't believe how fast the ambulance came. One of the neighbors I liked to bother at 3 am was forced to watch me until my Dad returned home.
Fortunately, my sister was fine. But when I realized what I had done, I got very upset with myself and kicked the cellar window. The result was both a broken window and a huge gash on my knee.
The next thing you know I was at the hospital myself. As my sister was coming out, I was going in.
I still have the scar.
Just so you know, my sister was no angel. She used to get up early in the morning, too, and try to hitch a bus to California.
That's where she lives today.
Another sister (when very young) once put Chompers, our pet guinea pig, under the lawn mower to see what would happen when I started it. For some reason, I decided to clean the mower before starting it and when I turned it on its side, there he was!
And my brother? He's an elder in his church now, but once destroyed half of Hellertown.
In those days, we all had slingshots. I could hit a weathervane from a long distance, a feat that impressed the neighbors and even my father. My brother wanted to do the same thing. I lent him my slingshot so he could practice. He did. Very hard. He went up and down the street shooting at weathervanes but hitting everything else. There were several broken windows and aluminum sidings damaged.
My Dad actually came home in the middle of the day and started yelling at me. I had no idea why he was blowin' oil and accusing me of shooting up peoples' homes.
My brother came home while this was going on, and admitted that he and not I was the culprit. He could have let me take the fall, especially since our father was about as angry as I had ever seen him. But his honesty must have impressed my dad. We had to give up the slingshot, which he destroyed in front of us. We were told we would have to pay for the damage, though neither of us was old enough to work. That was it. No beatings. No other penalty.
The best part is that I had another slingshot about which my father knew nothing.
I was always less honest than my brother. .
My parents had five children. I think it's safe to say we overwhelmed them at times. But they would never call me a sociopath.
They'd call me a psychopath.