The Tattletale!

If my brothers could have gotten grades for teasing, they would have been straight A students.  In fact, they were so abnormally brilliant, they should have been on the Honor Roll, making the Dean’s list for at least a decade.   

And me?  I would have gotten an A for single-handedly tattling an infinite amount.  And an A+!*  for being the loudest crier in the house.  I was out-numbered two against one. My two brothers buried me at Jones’ Beach because they said, “I was their little treasure!”  What a line of bologna!   But as their little sister, I fell for it.

The holy terrors cut off Barbie's head 

and if that wasn’t enough mischief for two little boys, they ruined all my Barbie coloring books by drawing green squiggles under her perky nose on every single page.  Not exactly glamorous for the diva of dolls, although funny in retrospect.

So, really…can you blame me for tattling? 

As I grew up, the teasing changed a bit.  I remember the time I was madly in love with all the boys in second grade.  When I came home from school, I took black magic marker, pink card board paper and wrote:

I taped the four words to my wall and then went around the corner to the candy store and had a slice of cheese pizza and a cherry Coke.  My brother’s walked in and asked for a sip of my Coke and a little itty bitty bite of pizza.  In one fell swoop, both were gone and so were the boys.

By the time I returned home, I was hungry, thirsty- no Pizza, no Coke- and really mad at them.  I went to my bedroom for peace and quiet. Seeing the wall, I screamed, “Mommmyyyyy!”  

Someone removed one word, making me admit that I was nuts. I’m not exactly accusing Bobby or Dickie, since I did not witness the defiling of my well intentioned sentence...but YOU do the math.

Now I ask you…how much more could a girl take?

And so I yelled. A lot. And loud.

Enter Dad.  To the rescue.  

“Bobby,” his voice boomed, “did you do this?”

Bobby’s lip quivered.

My father ripped his belt out from the loops so quickly we could hear the leather snapping. 

“No, Daddy!  Not the strap!”   Now Bobby was crying.

“The strap!”

My eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Into your room!  I’m going to punish you for teasing your sister!”

“No Daddy!  Nooooooooooooooo!”

My father marched him into his bedroom, slamming the door shut.

I heard the belt snap over and over again.

I fell to the floor like a rag doll, sobbing hysterically.  “I promise not to tattle anymore, Daddy.  Please don’t hurt Bobby!  Pleaseeeeeee Daddy!  Stoppppppp!”

I heard Bobby being beaten to a pulp.

Again, my brother screamed, “No, Daddy!  Noooooo!  I promise to be good!”

 “Too late, young man!  You’ve teased your sister too much!  Now I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. 

And with that, I heard the belt smack again and again and again, making a horrible, crackling sound.

Bobby cried out after each strike.

I begged for mercy, feeling guilt and remorse for tattling.  It didn’t matter.  The pounding Daddy gave Bobby continued for what seemed like hours.  I was sure Bobby was dead. 

Finally the door opened.  I was afraid to look up. But I did, wiping away a truck load of tears.

When Bobby finally came out of the room, his head was hanging.

Dad shook his finger at Bobby, “Now say you’re sorry to your sister.”

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his behind.

I grabbed Bobby and held him tight. I cried my eyes out, telling him how sorry I was for tattling.

Before you call CPS, Here’s the Rest of the Story:

Years later, I discovered that both my father and Bobby tricked me. 

It seems that while Bobby was allegedly being beaten by my father, screaming and hollering for mercy, my dad in actuality was beating the dresser in the bedroom, pretending he was hitting my brother.

My dad was the kindest, most gentle father in the world.  I should have known he would never hit my brother.  Again I was the butt of their joke.  And to this day, the boys continue to blast me with noogies, reminding me again that They Got Me Good!

That’s okay because what they don’t know is that now I’m tattling about them on my blog for the entire world to see.

Paybacks are hell!  But, oh, so much fun!  Now look who has the last laugh!  Gotta love the Internet!