Friday, January 7, 2011

Revenge is like a good scotch: twelve years old and shared.

My younger brother, everyone, is an idiot to say the least. He gets hurt a lot which means I get to laugh. So begins my recounting.

I belive I was ten or eleven when this story takes place, making my brother Ronnie around 8. The house we lived in had about three acres, and the people who lived there before us kept chickens. There was a large chicken house on one side of the property and instead of two posts, they had just used the two near by trees to wrap chicken wire around.

When we moved in, we took the wire down, but part of it had actually grown into the tree, so it was left there.

Ronnie, being an outdoorsy kid, spent hours outside roaming the property and the old chicken coop building was a sort of clubhouse. He also had an affinity for trees. Most of the trees were too tall to climb properly, with the sturdy branches being out of reach.

The chicken wire on the trees, however, gave him enough to grasp tightly so he could climb up. When he got to the top of the wire though, he was unable to climb any higher.

The easiest way down a tree, everyone knows, is to sort of slide down. He forgot about the wire. Sticking out at just the right angle and length, wire tore through his jeans, his underwear, and one of his testiculars.

He ran screaming into the house, holding his wee little boy. Now, my dad has always been there to take us to the hospital when we get hurt, always the one to make sure we were okay. He took one look at my brother's torn scrote and left dust down the road.

My mom had to take him screaming to the hospital and gramma met her there, which ended up being a good decision. It took my gramma on one arm, mom on another, and an orderly laying across Ronnie's legs so the doctor could stitch his sack.

If you'll remember, I stated Ronnie was around eight years old at the time. He was bouncing a 250+ lbs orderly like he was a drunk blonde girl on the back of a mechanical horse.

Finally, the doctor managed to sew it shut, and when they were leaving, mom saw the doctor sitting in the hall, head in his hands, shaking his head and looking close to throwing up. And when Ronnie ripped the stitch later, the doctor refused to redo it and just threw a butterfly bandage on the burst ball.

The moral of the story is not to climb trees with wires and not to piss off your sister who has a blog.

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