The Drag Race

My three-year-old little brother, David, and I were down in the cold basement of our house. I was trying to set up a vintage racing car set, given to me by our landlord's adult son. While my brother was mincing around trying to get my attention, to no avail.

The track was set up, now all I had to do was attach two wires to a huge battery that I didn't even know whether it had any juice left in it. The wires kept slipping and I kept saying "fuck" each time they did. My brother kept calling my name "Atti, Atti, Atti" and I kept ignoring him.

Two things I didn't realize were going on. One my brother's tape recorder brain was storing my fucks for later use at the most inappropriate moment and two his little patience was wearing very thin.

I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I was completely and totally ignoring him. Finally, I heard one more call of my name "Atti" punctuated by the hockey stick crashing down on my skull. Followed by another "Atti" and "I'm talking to you".

Well, excrutiating pain shot through my skull, I was seeing black with stars to boot, and I nearly passed out. I couldn't believe what just happened. My little brother nearly knocked me out for ignoring him.

I was ready to kill him, but then I realized I had no authority from our mother to even spank him. Soooo I just had to suck it up and let things slide. When the reality of what just happened totally hit me I started laughing uncontrollably.

Well, the next day David went to my mother's work. She cleaned house for the Mascals. All-day long my brother was saying "fucka, fucka" every time something didn't go his way while playing with some toy soldiers and a couple of toy tanks.

Well before long my mother caught wind of this and demanded to know where David had heard this language from? He said he heard his brother Atti use such language yesterday when he was working on the race track.

Well, when my mother got home that evening she questioned me briefly about my behavior the day before, and then she promptly broke a large wooden spoon on my butt.

My little brother and I were home alone about a year before and it was feeding time. I put David in his high chair and turned my back to get his lunch plate ready. While I had my back turned he jumped out of his high chair, because I neglected to tie him in, and he landed on his head.

While I'm wondering if he's damaged in any way, he starts screaming and as I scoop him up to comfort him I see a goose egg develop on his head.

I feel so bad, but I don't feel as bad as I did when my mother comes home sees the goose egg on my brother's head, puts two and two together, and breaks a large wooden spoon on my butt for not tying David into his high chair.

We went as a family, Apu(our father) Anyu(our mother) David, three and me twelve, to Algonquin Park in Ontario, where we then lived.

My little brother was running around like some kind of mountain goat on these slanted rock formations on the edge of the water. Leaping and bounding like some kind of gazel while we walk around on stilted and wobbly legs trying not to slide off and into the water.

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