Family shenanigans
A friend's blog brought to mind the issue of being deceived by your family. Not deceived in the sense of cheated out of the will, or not told that you are adopted, or any really negative thing like that. I mean deceived as in used as a child for personal entertainment. Being pranked or lied to by adults for their own amusement. My friend recounted one such tale, and it brought a couple of my own experiences as a child to mind.
My dad used to mess with our mind from time to time when we were small. One time, when we were visiting America, we were driving up to the mall, but it looked like we were driving up to ToysRus. We didn't have massive toy stores like that in Spain when I was a child, in fact, we barely had malls until I was in high school, when they suddenly started popping up all over the place. So malls were quite a novelty when we came to america. Even more so were the superstores. Massive shops dedicated to one thing. Barns and Noble, Borders and BooksaMillion were a kind of Mecca for an avid reader with a limited library back home; and those were merely the stores dedicated to books. There were massive stores dedicated to everything from computer products to art supplies. And then of course, there was every child's dream: ToysRus*. So, we were driving towards the mall and the toy store with my family, my sister and I must have been quite small, and we were both quite innocent at that age. My dad turned the car towards the toy store and said that we were going to go buy toys. My sister and I nearly jumped out of our seats. We already started trying to decide what we wanted to get. There were so many choices. But then my dad told us that we weren't going to have to decide because, holding up his wallet, he announces that we each get one credit card, one shopping cart, and one hour. We start to scream and go ballistic in the back seat. My mom looked amused, my dad was laughing out loud a bit wickedly. But right then, as we are about to reach the ToysRus he took a sharp turn and parked in front of some discount clothes store with the proclamation: "just kidding!" We fell apart as he opened his door and stepped outside chortling to himself as my my gave him some half meant reprimand.
The other one that sticks out in my head, was not perpetrated by my father but by my uncle Harry. Now, my uncle Harry was one of those larger than life figures for my sister and I when we were growing up. We didn't know anyone like him in the metropolis of madrid. He was an outdoorsman. He actually had a degree in forestry, but ended up going back to school and becoming an anesthesiologist. But this love for the outdoors never waned. He was an avid hunter, and had a large vegetable garden. When we would walk outside with him he would always end up catching some sort of insect or reptile for us. But uncle Harry also had a twisted sense of humor. In his hunting shed, among guns and shovels, tents and deer heads, he had stuffed some squirrels in unnaturally aggressive stances, as if they were bears.
So one day Harry decided to take my sister and I for a ride on one of his four-wheelers. He drove us out into the woods in back of his house. After driving us around through the trees for a while, he stops the motorcycle and turns to us. "We're lost" he said. "I don't know if we'll make it back." He looked around disconcertedly. My sister and I looked up at him in horror. "You'd better start praying." Now, we don't know if he said that last bit in jest or not, but we, being the children of a minister, started begging God to get us home safely with all our might. Uncle Harry looked at us briefly and revved up the vehicle, probably to hide his mirth. Of course, then he took us straight back to the house, and we ran inside ready to recount our miraculous salvation from dying in the wilderness. Harry just stood there grinning the whole time, and we didn't find out until years later that it was all a big joke on us.
Years later, the only thing I resent is that I can't pass these things on to the new generations. I was quite looking forward to being the crazy uncle, but my sister seems to resist popping some children out for the occasion. And now that some high school and college friends are on the verge of having children, I am too far away to take my place in the honored tradition of older jokers. My friend Daniel and his wife Eva are having (or have just had, by the time this gets posted) a baby girl, but you can't mess with those as well as with the boys. I would feel more guilty. You are supposed to be protective of little girls. Charles has really cheated me out of this experience by having his kid, which we both think will have a penis, in California, the other side of the world. Jenn already told me during their first year of marriage that I am not ever allowed to talk to their kids if they ever should have some, but my fingers are crossed that Charles will hold it up to the computer for regular skype sessions.
*Side note, for years I didn't "get" the name ToysRus. It took me forever to extract toys- are - us from the title and thought that ToysRus was the name of a dinosaur that happened to be a toy enthusiast.
My dad used to mess with our mind from time to time when we were small. One time, when we were visiting America, we were driving up to the mall, but it looked like we were driving up to ToysRus. We didn't have massive toy stores like that in Spain when I was a child, in fact, we barely had malls until I was in high school, when they suddenly started popping up all over the place. So malls were quite a novelty when we came to america. Even more so were the superstores. Massive shops dedicated to one thing. Barns and Noble, Borders and BooksaMillion were a kind of Mecca for an avid reader with a limited library back home; and those were merely the stores dedicated to books. There were massive stores dedicated to everything from computer products to art supplies. And then of course, there was every child's dream: ToysRus*. So, we were driving towards the mall and the toy store with my family, my sister and I must have been quite small, and we were both quite innocent at that age. My dad turned the car towards the toy store and said that we were going to go buy toys. My sister and I nearly jumped out of our seats. We already started trying to decide what we wanted to get. There were so many choices. But then my dad told us that we weren't going to have to decide because, holding up his wallet, he announces that we each get one credit card, one shopping cart, and one hour. We start to scream and go ballistic in the back seat. My mom looked amused, my dad was laughing out loud a bit wickedly. But right then, as we are about to reach the ToysRus he took a sharp turn and parked in front of some discount clothes store with the proclamation: "just kidding!" We fell apart as he opened his door and stepped outside chortling to himself as my my gave him some half meant reprimand.
The other one that sticks out in my head, was not perpetrated by my father but by my uncle Harry. Now, my uncle Harry was one of those larger than life figures for my sister and I when we were growing up. We didn't know anyone like him in the metropolis of madrid. He was an outdoorsman. He actually had a degree in forestry, but ended up going back to school and becoming an anesthesiologist. But this love for the outdoors never waned. He was an avid hunter, and had a large vegetable garden. When we would walk outside with him he would always end up catching some sort of insect or reptile for us. But uncle Harry also had a twisted sense of humor. In his hunting shed, among guns and shovels, tents and deer heads, he had stuffed some squirrels in unnaturally aggressive stances, as if they were bears.
So one day Harry decided to take my sister and I for a ride on one of his four-wheelers. He drove us out into the woods in back of his house. After driving us around through the trees for a while, he stops the motorcycle and turns to us. "We're lost" he said. "I don't know if we'll make it back." He looked around disconcertedly. My sister and I looked up at him in horror. "You'd better start praying." Now, we don't know if he said that last bit in jest or not, but we, being the children of a minister, started begging God to get us home safely with all our might. Uncle Harry looked at us briefly and revved up the vehicle, probably to hide his mirth. Of course, then he took us straight back to the house, and we ran inside ready to recount our miraculous salvation from dying in the wilderness. Harry just stood there grinning the whole time, and we didn't find out until years later that it was all a big joke on us.
Years later, the only thing I resent is that I can't pass these things on to the new generations. I was quite looking forward to being the crazy uncle, but my sister seems to resist popping some children out for the occasion. And now that some high school and college friends are on the verge of having children, I am too far away to take my place in the honored tradition of older jokers. My friend Daniel and his wife Eva are having (or have just had, by the time this gets posted) a baby girl, but you can't mess with those as well as with the boys. I would feel more guilty. You are supposed to be protective of little girls. Charles has really cheated me out of this experience by having his kid, which we both think will have a penis, in California, the other side of the world. Jenn already told me during their first year of marriage that I am not ever allowed to talk to their kids if they ever should have some, but my fingers are crossed that Charles will hold it up to the computer for regular skype sessions.
*Side note, for years I didn't "get" the name ToysRus. It took me forever to extract toys- are - us from the title and thought that ToysRus was the name of a dinosaur that happened to be a toy enthusiast.
Comments
by the way, where is uncle harry now?
Also, what was your dad thinking?! He set himself up to endure TWO temper tantrums.
Actually, I'm really awkward around most kids. I have never really been around kids that much. I like em, but I have very little experience. Consequently, kids friggin love me. My sister says that they are like dogs and can smell my fear. Whenever we would visit supporters and supporting churches, I would always get stuck with some kid climbing all over me and some parent commenting "wow, he really likes you" and me smiling awkwardly and the kid tries to stick his fingers in my nose.