“Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.” G.G. Marquez
In a house hold with tree guys, one girl and a single mother there’s always something going on. For the first 11 years we lived in a suburb of Rotterdam, The Netherlands. Calling it a suburb is really not very descriptive for what it was, a better description would be, a modern built ghetto with a subway connection. Growing up in the city might be dangerous because of traffic and the ever shrinking room to play, our suburb was mostly dangerous because of kids and their cruel sense of humor. Sometimes we’d get carried away and join in, there have been occasions where one of my brothers pied over his toys to make sure the other kids wouldn’t touch or steal it. A very effective technique. On the other hand this technique was also utilized by other boys on your toys. I just played with my sisters dolls and developed a keen eye for yellow staining.
Most of the time I just kept to myself. A doll made a perfectly acceptable rocket ship and a dollhouse functioned as base of operations. The added advantage was that I didn’t have to build any of it with Lego. I was an incredible lazy child when it came to doing things with my hands. I was perfectly content living in my own fantasy world without having to do much of anything.
My brothers on the other hand were a bit more energetic than I was and sometimes made the mistake to involve me in their play. After a while I had adapted a technique which seemed to work magic when it came to cutting play short and turning it into drama. As I was a good deal younger than my two brothers I was also a lot shorter, at that age - I believe I was around six but I don’t remember exactly - my length gave me near perfect access to their crotches. When one of my two brothers moved in for some rough and free frolic play time a quick jab with my right would bring it to a premature end. Being very proud of my new found technique I perfected it by hightailing the scene and play innocent in my room.
As they were my older brothers my mother was of the opinion that they should be the wiser. They had to deal with my mothers wrath while I was listening-in from the safety of my room.
For a good year I got away with this technique until one day my mother came into my room to have a talk with me, calmly explaining that hitting my brothers in the groin was a very nasty thing to do and I had to stop it. I pretty much stopped unless I feared that their play would be more painful than my mothers punishment for giving them groin trouble again. All in all my older brothers were great and never gave me much trouble at all, looking back I probably inflicted more physical pain on them than the other way around.
In a house hold with tree guys, one girl and a single mother there’s always something going on. For the first 11 years we lived in a suburb of Rotterdam, The Netherlands. Calling it a suburb is really not very descriptive for what it was, a better description would be, a modern built ghetto with a subway connection. Growing up in the city might be dangerous because of traffic and the ever shrinking room to play, our suburb was mostly dangerous because of kids and their cruel sense of humor. Sometimes we’d get carried away and join in, there have been occasions where one of my brothers pied over his toys to make sure the other kids wouldn’t touch or steal it. A very effective technique. On the other hand this technique was also utilized by other boys on your toys. I just played with my sisters dolls and developed a keen eye for yellow staining.
Most of the time I just kept to myself. A doll made a perfectly acceptable rocket ship and a dollhouse functioned as base of operations. The added advantage was that I didn’t have to build any of it with Lego. I was an incredible lazy child when it came to doing things with my hands. I was perfectly content living in my own fantasy world without having to do much of anything.
My brothers on the other hand were a bit more energetic than I was and sometimes made the mistake to involve me in their play. After a while I had adapted a technique which seemed to work magic when it came to cutting play short and turning it into drama. As I was a good deal younger than my two brothers I was also a lot shorter, at that age - I believe I was around six but I don’t remember exactly - my length gave me near perfect access to their crotches. When one of my two brothers moved in for some rough and free frolic play time a quick jab with my right would bring it to a premature end. Being very proud of my new found technique I perfected it by hightailing the scene and play innocent in my room.
As they were my older brothers my mother was of the opinion that they should be the wiser. They had to deal with my mothers wrath while I was listening-in from the safety of my room.
For a good year I got away with this technique until one day my mother came into my room to have a talk with me, calmly explaining that hitting my brothers in the groin was a very nasty thing to do and I had to stop it. I pretty much stopped unless I feared that their play would be more painful than my mothers punishment for giving them groin trouble again. All in all my older brothers were great and never gave me much trouble at all, looking back I probably inflicted more physical pain on them than the other way around.
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