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Cast the First Stone - Tommy

posted 5/1/2008 9:09:54 AM |
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tagged: laugh

I was around nine and my brother was six. I had gone the week before to church with a friend. In Sunday school, we had been given a homework assignment. When the Sunday school teacher asked the question, I raised my hand concerning Jesus and the prostitute.
“What did Jesus say to the crowd?”
“Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.”
“Then what happened?”
“Jesus picked up a rock and threw it at her!”

All the kids including myself burst out laughing uncontrollably. The Sunday school teacher was not amused and yours truly got marched down to the church administration office. They called my mother, told her what happened, requested that she come and get me immediately and requested that I never return.

She arrived and steaming with teeth clinched. Our car, a 58 Ford two door, was left running in park and she came around to passenger door, opened it, pushed the seat forward and ushered me inside. “Don’t say a God damned word.” This woman rarely cussed.

I just knew I had an appointment with the “Bruce belt”. By the early sixties thin ties and belts were in fashion. But there was this big fat ugly belt from the mid-fifties that remained in the closet for special occasions like this one.

I was as quiet as a mouse as we drove home. But then, we turned into the shopping center. We got a parking space right in front of the entrance to the grocery store. All three of us went in and she picked up a few items. Once we got back to the car, she glanced over at my little brother who was trying open the shell of a peanut. She grabbed him by the wrist and was fuming.
“Where did you get that? We didn’t pay for that! You stole it! You are going to grow up to be a stealer!!”
“Yeah, a Pittsburgh Steeler!” I quipped as I laughed.

She turned and swung a backhand at me. I tried to duck unsuccessfully and she caught me square on the nose which started bleeding profusely. She opened the car door and got out. I didn’t want to get in trouble for getting the car bloody, so I pushed the seat forward and climbed on top it to get to the door handle. In the process, I squished my little brother who began screaming bloody murder. I got outside the car about the time she came around from the front. I held my hands in front of my face.
“No, mom, please don’t hit me anymore!”

She stopped, everybody stopped. More than a dozen people were staring, mouths agape, at this kid standing in the parking lot with a bloody white dress shirt and the one screaming in the car. She turned beet red in mortification and leaned forward saying between clinched teeth “Don’t say a God damned word.” I didn’t…for the rest of the day.

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May 1 @ 9:13AM  
I don't remember if I posted this and accidently deleted it or if I simply forgot to post it.

May 1 @ 9:19AM  
We do have a way of letting our mouths get us in trouble!!!

May 1 @ 9:31AM  
Ah the good old '50's....if that scene would've happened today it most likely woulda turned out quite differently.

Oh Bruce...that belt you spoke of? In my case it was the razor strap...hanging on the back of the bathroom door......

May 1 @ 9:41AM  
If only parents could do this nowadays and not get introuble.
Ain't nothing wrong with puttin' your kids in place these days....besides perhaps going to jail for child abuse. But, if kids had more discipline, I believe this world would be a much better place and kids wouldn't run amuck and cause all the trouble they want because their parents can't discipline.

May 1 @ 9:45AM  
Yeah I think it's a good think that this happened a while ago. I'm not so sure it's something could be gotten away with these days. ROFL! I certainly deserved a few attention getters myself, nothing of this sort however. Great story!

May 1 @ 9:46AM  
In my case it was the razor strap

That was my grandfather's weapon of choice. Fortunately I never got acquainted with it.

Oh, hijacking my own blog here. But this is interesting. I was bantering with Deviousfem and some things were out of sync to me. Well while it is about ten minutes to nine for me on Thursday, it is Friday for her!

May 1 @ 10:01AM  
Here is another short memoir. I was probably thirteen and my brother (the ultimate cry baby) was ten. I had looked at the TV Guide and saw a movie coming on at 8:00 that I knew my dad would want to watch. My brother and I were laying on the floor in front of the TV. At around 7:45 I said softly to my brother, "There is a movie coming on channel nine and it is all about you."

Just before the top of the hour I said, "Hey dad, what do you want to watch now?"

"Well, let's see." He picked up the TV Guide. "Oh, there is a good movie coming on channel nine."

"Oh really? What's it called?"

"The Ugly American"

My brother jumped up. WAAAAAAA! "It's rude to call somebody ugly!" He then ran off to his room. My parents looked at one another puzzled. I turned the TV to channel nine with a smirk and we didn't see my brother the rest of the night.

May 1 @ 10:17AM  
You tomentor, you!! That's funny.

My older sister has ADD, I used to hear my older 2 sisters tell her since she wasn't "like" us she got switched at the hospital with another baby. When we would fight I used to say it to her too....even though I wasn't even born yet...But, man she would get so pissed and upset....It was funny.....Still is!

May 1 @ 10:20AM  
If you like these sort of memoirs, check back in on this blog as I am going to add another one to the comments maybe more.

May 1 @ 10:41AM  
I was doing my homework once (I was 9), when my cousin (who lived across the street from me) called the house and asked if I wanted to go to McDonalds with her kids.

Of course I wanted to go, what kid didn't love McDonalds??

I ran outta the house hopped in her car with my cousins and she drove us in a circle and into the neighbors driveway and said "We're Here!!"

We all looked at eachother like "WTF?"

Turns out, the neighbors last name was technically, we were at McDonalds.....Funny to her....But, damn sure not to us!!

May 1 @ 1:25PM  
I seem to recognize that mouth-on-auto-pilot feeling.

May 1 @ 2:21PM  
My mom wasn't much on hitting but she was lightening fast at pinching me on the leg or arm..

May 1 @ 2:30PM  
Beyond being a cry baby, my brother was also a big time tattle tale, snitch, stoolie, squealer and in the slang vernacular of the time, a fink (now there’s a word you haven’t heard in decades). I often wanted to take him out back and discuss the matter with him. But if I did, he would squeal and the old man would have a piece of me. At the time, my dad was a 6’3” 230 pound high school football coach. It goes without saying that there was no upside in the tradeoff.

Then one day a light came on. “I’ve got it!” It was ingeniously simple and guaranteed to work. “That little whiney fink is going to get what he deserves.” I said to myself. It was simply a matter of being patient and waiting for the right time. Over the course of a month I would grin continuously imagining him getting worked over by my mom when my plan went into action.

My late sainted mother was a supermom. Look up meticulous in the dictionary and you will see her picture next to the word. One Saturday morning it was raining and she loathed that, as she had to put up with us being in the house all day. I don’t recall where my dad was, but he wasn’t around. She was not in a good mood and I didn’t know why. But I knew to stay out of her way because she was marching around the house, not walking. You know the mother’s march, it’s the gait that they have when they are coming after you and just about ready to beat your ass for something you did that they just found out about. She wasn’t mad at either of us, yet. But all of that was about to change!

[Now let me tell you, people, as I type this, I am still laughing my ass off 45 years later]

My room was at the end of the hall. Halfway down the hall was my brother’s room and directly across from it was the bathroom. My mom had went in to clean the bathroom. I could see my brother in the hall doing that dance that kids do when they have to pee. “You can wait, damn it!” Ooh, cursing! Lovely! This is it! It was my lucky day as a few minutes later the phone rang. She marched to answer it in the kitchen and my brother shot into the bathroom to recycle some Kool Aid. I walked towards the kitchen and could tell it was my grandmother on the phone. Perfect, that will give me five to ten minutes. I then heard the toilet flush.

I noticed that my brother was in the corner of his room with his back to the doorway. He was completely immersed in his tinker toys. I quietly slipped into the bathroom, grabbed the proverbial water glass, filled it about halfway with water, then I sprinkled it on the toilet seat and floor. I dried the glass off with the hand towel. I stuck my head out of the doorway and listened. She was still on phone and a quick glance into his room revealed that he was still in the corner. Justice being administered was only a few minutes away.

Now let me pause the action to explain that my mom was what we termed a syllable slapper. Now, I don’t know if you have had the pleasure of encountering one of these creatures of not. Basically, you get bitched at while you are being slapped. One syllable equals one slap. Swear words result in a much harder slap.

She finished the phone conversation then marched down the hall and turned into the bathroom. In two seconds she marched out of the bathroom, across the hall, and into my brother’s room. He didn’t hear her coming. I leaned out of room when the first blow rained down upon his head from behind without warning.

“I (slap) work (crack) and (smack) slave (slap) and (crack) no (smack) body (slap) ap (crack) pre (smack) ci (slap) ates (crack) a (smack) GOD (WHACK) DAMN (WHACK) thing (slap) I (crack) do (smack)….” As I recall, the woman had quite a bit to say.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to go into my closet and shut the door. It was just too much humor for me. I didn’t care to hear that old, “You think it’s so funny, I’ll give you something to laugh about” routine.

Within a year, the same sort of justice would be administered. But how I set him up this time was to put a Kleenex in the pocket of a pair of dirty pants of his in the hamper. It was even better than the last one as she was cussing like a sailor when she was working him over.

I told him this story about 20 years ago and he got pissed and recalled it quite clearly. He never knew in either case what he had “done”. After all, you certainly didn’t want to ask what it involved even if you didn’t know.


May 1 @ 4:13PM  
i have no words!!!!

May 1 @ 5:00PM  
Man, your one dirty stinker!!! I'm glad you can still laugh about it.
I remember my cousin's dad......My cousin was a boy and quite a wuss, he would cry for no reason. His dad would always say, "Why you being a baby, you want me to give you something to cry about??" Then he would reach out and "POW!" I always had a laugh.....

Glad I didn't have a brother like

May 1 @ 6:54PM  
Oh sheesh. This reminds me so much of my own sisters and brothers. I was the oldest so I took a lot of shit from my parents for the younger ones. One can say I broke the ice for them. By the time they repeated actions I'd already done, no one noticed. I had one sister just like your brother. She was annoying but tiny. I can still hear her in my mind..... Daddyyyyyyyy!

May 1 @ 7:02PM  
I used to mess with my younger brother. Growing up whenever he got in a fight it was always with someone way bigger than him and usually bigger than me. Just because I could pick on him did not mean I would let others so I always came to his aid. About 20 years ago at my father’s funeral he was talking about it and said that whenever he got pissed at me he would go and start a fight with the biggest boy he could find and run to me knowing I would take up for him but hoping that I would get my butt kicked. It was a good thing we were at my father’s funeral or I would have whipped his ass that day.

May 1 @ 7:13PM  
You know how every school has the one dork in it? My brother was it.

May 1 @ 7:27PM  
My older sister has ADD, I used to hear my older 2 sisters tell her since she wasn't "like" us she got switched at the hospital with another baby. When we would fight I used to say it to her too....even though I wasn't even born yet...But, man she would get so pissed and upset....It was funny.....Still is!
Reminds me of a time when I was little that my brother and sister, both older and much bigger than me....convinced me that I was infact adopted...They were very convincing. I believe their explanation was "We found you in a cabbage patch"...I soent the next week wondering around mygrandads vege garden, trying to find my patch of origin.

May 1 @ 8:14PM  

I'll take a # 3! lol

May 1 @ 8:19PM  
The bathroom story...that was funny!!!!!!

Does your brother still talk to you?

May 1 @ 8:37PM  
The fact that you could wait so long for just the right moment. Man, if I had to wait longer than a week I would usually forget what I was going to do. Nothing ever as potent as you though. Of course, I never really knew the pleasure of a "bruce". The wooden spoons were enough and once they broke there were no replacement. It's good to know that you can still talk with your brother.

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Cast the First Stone - Tommy