Yes, I Really Did Do That...

Yep, I am the first to announce that as the middle child, I was the one responsible for most of my parent's gray hairs. To this day, most of the things I managed to get away with are still tucked away in the ole cranium. The tales pop up during family dinners when my 9-year-old niece wants to here yet another account of how I misbehaved at her age. Much to her Dad's chagrin, those naughty behavior genes were passed from me to her. It is really interesting how my niece has inherited certain traits from her Mother, my younger sister and me.

But I digress.

When I was 7 years old and still the youngest child of the household our family bought a chocolate colored toy poodle. We all fell in love with him immediately. My Mom became pregnant with my younger sister soon after the poodle entered the family. Once my younger sister was born, the poodle became extremely jealous of the baby. The result was him leaving presents on every step of the town house each time Mom was feeding the baby. Needless to say, Mom was not amused. Within a couple of weeks we had to return the poodle. I know now that everyone in the family was as upset about it as myself, but at age 8 I viewed it as double punishment. Not only was I no longer the youngest, the baby was the reason my puppy had to go back. The baby got all the attention when I had to come inside from playtime to take her for a ride in the stroller. The baby generated oohs and ahhhs amongst my group of friends. The green-eyed monster was present and accounted for.

Fast-forward 5 months. My Mom had to run a very quick errand. My older sister was next door at a friend's house. My younger sister was in her playpen and I was reading. Mom told me that she had to run out and would return in 10 minutes tops. She told me that the baby was fine and just to keep an eye on her, she was quite content in her playpen. I watched my Mom's car pull out of the parking lot and as soon as she was out of sight, I went to the playpen and picked up my younger sister and went up to my room. I deposited her in my 6-inch high trashcan. Much to my chagrin, not only did she not fit into the trash can she also uttered her first giggle in my presence. So there she was wide-eyed, giggling and half-flopping out of my trash can. The whole scenario made me giggle too. I lovingly removed her from the trashcan and returned her to the playpen, no one was the wiser. Of course I never mentioned it to anyone. My attitude towards her changed at that moment in time, I slowly became the proud, protective sister. I even started feeling joy over all the attention she generated.

Fast forward 18 years to a weekend family breakfast. We always use the time around the table to reminisce. Of course the topic was things that Wicked H always got in trouble for, I am able to laugh a myself. I’d like to think that I have learned from all of the mistakes, big and small, of my lifetime. Each family member was taking turns reciting his or her favorite Wicked H tale. When it was my turn, I started with “remember the time I threw baby sis into the trash.....” Halfway through my sentence and after seeing the look on her face as well as my parents, I realized that they had not heard this particular recount before that day.

I gave them the details of the event. When I was done, my Father asked me why I didn't throw her away in the kitchen trashcan? My response: “ you emptied that one every day, you would have found her! Nobody ever emptied the trash in my room...” It was not a proud moment for my folks. Luckily, baby sis was able to laugh it off.

Yep, I did do that.