Bad Rick: The Child

Do you think temper is rooted in nature or nurture? As I said in my last post, I believe I was born to be easy-going--as I am today. I have a theory that I have my middle brother to thank for me being able to deviate from my normal, easy-going nature. My oldest brother has no temper. My middle brother goes ape at the drop of a hat. I thought I had two choices in dealing with that powder keg: slink away like our oldest brother did or get mad too and get a little adrenaline flowing to defend myself. (Gandhi who???)

On to my evil childhood! I don't remember the following incidents, but they are part of our family lore and I've heard the stories 100 times--maybe more.

Toddler Rick was adorable (there are no pictures to prove otherwise). My mom loved to tell the story about the day my dad gave me a little smack for something. I didn't think I deserved it so I smacked him back. He was amused (and so was she, but not for the same reason he was), pleased (because I had spunk), but didn't want me to think I could get away with that. He hit me a little harder to make his point. So I hit him a little harder. We went back and forth and it escalated until one of us was on his butt on the floor. I hated to do that to him, but he had to learn. Do you believe that? I didn't think so. Of course I was the one on the floor--I think that's when I first started to learn that talking was a good option.

Another family favorite is about 4-year-old Rick. One day, four of my older siblings were playing in our front yard and wouldn't allow me to join them. I watched them from behind our glass-paned storm door. According to the story, they took time away from their game to start taunting me about not being allowed to play. They could see my little eyebrows furrow down and increased their taunts. My middle brother came over to the door and knelt down to make faces at me right up against the glass. That was a mistake. I balled up my little fist and punched him in the nose--through one of the glass panes. Luckily, no one got cut.

Only my middle brother remembers the next (and last) story. I was not in school yet, so I was probably five--and already employing tactical strategy in dealing with him. He was 3 years older, bigger and stronger. But he came home from school at the same time everyday and everyday he came in our back door and crossed through the dining room. One day I climbed up onto a chair next to the dining room door and waited for him, with a skillet. As he crossed the threshold, I supposedly knocked him in head, then dropped it and ran screaming to our mother that Sonny was trying to hit me with a skillet. I have no idea if that is true. If it is, it was a rotten (or possibly great) thing to do. But then again, if you knew my brother you'd wonder why I didn't hit him again. I blogged this story once, but it's such a family favorite I'm repeating it. Also, it highlights the importance of varying your schedule. You never know when a 5 year-old with a score to settle might be waiting for you!!! =)

Okay, those 3 stories are it for childhood, I didn't leave anything out. Some of you may remember the mushroom story, but I won't repeat that here.

The next post in this theme will be about the teen years--starting at 16. One of the 3 stories is a little scary (and probably the worst except for the Nancy-boy story), one is funny and the other is...well, it makes three.


Note: Last summer, my brother apologized for all the "stuff" he did when we were kids--and said he wondered why I was even willing to talk to him. I let him off the hook by reminding him of the skillet story. =)