Childhood Revisited: Burn the evidence or use spray paint

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We all had that friend/sibling/pet (insert someone here) as a child who gave you a plethora of humorous stories to tell while you are sitting around a table/campfire/car trip with friends. They left you with the kind of stories that bring tears to your eyes or left an inside joke to tell for years. WordPress has offered up the Daily Prompt called Childhood Revisited to share the story.

Last week I was talking to someone who had asked me about my childhood. I revealed that I had moved 13 times before I was in grade 3. They asked me if I thought I had an awful childhood. Are you kidding me? I had an AWESOME childhood! I had Aunties that treated me like a princess, Grannies that spoiled me rotten, parents who took me to Disneyland…a LOT, and a brother who was my pal, my minion and a terrorist.

You may think having a terrorist for a brother was a bad thing. Not necessarily. It’s not like he killed anyone (that he would admit to) nor was he evil. He was the sort of fellow that thought everything bad was a good idea, as in LETS TRY IT OUT! If it was tame, he always replied with “Pffffff, I can do that but it’s too easy.” When we watched Ripley’s believe it or not or In Search of.. He usually said “That is so fake”. But he believed in Aliens and the Supernatural. Scientific stuff, not so much.

He is 1.5 years younger than me. We like the same things and got into the same trouble. We spent 99% of our childhood grounded. He was the best blackmailer on the planet and more stubborn than anyone I know. My kids often ask for Uncle stories. Now that they are old enough to know better, I will share this one.

My brother had the coolest room EVER. It had Star Wars wallpaper on every wall, his bed sported matching sheets and comforter. He had all the best toys from Star Wars action figures to Steve Austin the Bionic Man. THe best part about his room was the bed. It was a Captian’s Bed. the mattress was on a raised platform high above the floor with 3 drawers and 2 shelves underneath. Often we would play under his bed. Behind the drawers was space. It seemed huge, I think back now and it must have been onlyΒ  a small narrow space, but to us it was a fort. Large enough for any adventure either with or without the action figures. We usually wore a cape and rubber boots for obvious reasons.

I sometimes had a sleep-over in his room on a Friday night. We would squish together and sleep under his bed. Sometimes we told ghost stories and he would share his experiences with The Hand or The Blue lady, ghosts that visited him regularly. One night, I said out loud, “I wish we could have a campfire.” My brother looked at me and ran out of the room. I figured he was going to ‘tell on’ me, like the snitch he usually was. But he didn’t. He went outside to the side of the house and brought in wood chips. He placed them on his carpet in a pile. I looked at him questionably, and he said “I took dad’s lighter.” I said wait until I get back.

I ran up stairs to the kitchen and grabbed a pie tin, the lysol can and a glass of water – you know Safety First! Then I returned. I suggested we put the wood chips in the pie tin so the carpet doesn’t get wrecked. “You know how mom gets” then he tried lighting the wood chips. The chips wouldn’t burn. So, me being the brainiac of the bunch, I suggested we use the lysol as a torch. I sprayed the can and he ignited the spray with the lighter. Before long we had those wood chips burning – under the bed. We sang a few songs and told a story but the smoke was really bad. I was scared mom would smell it so I said we should put it out before she gets mad. Luckily I thought ahead and brought water!

Well…the water didn’t work so my brother ran to get more. 5 cups later the room was FILLED with smoke and we were in danger of being grounded AGAIN. I opened up the window – of course it was the middle of a Canadian Winter and the window was FROZEN shut. My brother thought we should use the lysol torch to thaw it. It worked like a charm except we noticed scorch marks on the window frame. MOM WAS GOING TO KILL US! We finally rid the room of smoke. I tried washing the scorch marks but it was no use. We needed to paint. Luckily for us my brother had a closet full of model spray paint but the labels were messed up with different colours. It was hard to tell which colour was in each can. We needed white.

My brother grabbed a can and sprayed it in the air – black. Wrong colour. The next can he sprayed in the air – white, SCORE! We carefully painted the window sill and cleaned up our mess. I sprayed the room with the remains of the lysol so no one would be the wiser. We noticed the time and quickly jumped into bed – dad was about to check on us for the night.

Moments later, Dad opened the door and said, “Lights out, good night.” Phew…we made it.

In the morning we were up watching Saturday morning cartoons when my mom called us. We looked sheepishly at each other and wandered into my brother’s room where she stood in the middle of the floor looking at the ceiling. “What is that black mark on the ceiling?” CRAP it was a black spot from spraying the paint in the air to see what colour it was. We both shrugged our shoulders and said in unison, “I don’t know” and we slunk away back to the family room to finish watching The Justice League.

I look back on that adventure and sometimes think “WOW we could have DIED.” But sometimes I think, “There is NOTHING my kids could do that I have not done.” But mostly I think, “I am thankful to have gone through my childhood with my brother.”

Love you lots Dumbdumbuglyandsmell

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24 thoughts on “Childhood Revisited: Burn the evidence or use spray paint

  1. That is so awesome! I could imagine ANY parent flipping out if they knew their kid had gotten up to such mischief….

  2. Oh how funny! Your story reminds me of the fun I used to have with my sister and our 2 cousins. What we didn’t get into! Thanks so much for sharing. πŸ™‚

  3. Sooo…. when I was about that age, my friends and I were in a disused sewerage facility. It was in the neighborhood. Looking back, it wasn’t exactly an ideal site, but don’t blame me.

    We set a small fire going to keep warm. There was some old carpet on the floor of the room. It some kind of storage room.

    We put everything out carefully and wandered off to wreak mayhem somewhere else.

    On the way home, we heard and saw the fire trucks. The smoldering carpet wasn’t out. It simply smoldered for some time quietly, then caught fire. And burned down the abandoned building. (It probably saved them a fortune in demolition fees.)

    To put it another way, you set fire to carpet, thought you put it out, and went to sleep in that room. If you had the chance to live your life over a 100 times, I’m thinking that on 99 of those, you’d have burned. You’re sooo lucky to have survived that!

  4. Well did I ever had it easy with my son (your Godson)! He got kicked off the school bus twice in grade 8 for a week at a time. As far as I know he never tried burning the house down. AS you know I was the perfect Angel growing up ha LOL

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