I've got lots more big brother (and sister) stories. I already told you about how he stuck a penny toad in my ear and how he would pin me down and stretch loogies into my face until they almost touched, then suck 'em back up again. (He pushed it too far a few times and I ended up with spit all over me.)
One of my favorite stories is really best told by him. Every time he tells it I laugh myself to tears. I can't tell it as good as he does because I don't remember it happening, but according to my brother, one time he ran over me on a bike.
Now, this was no ordinary bike. It was an old, rusty, heavy bike from the 50's or something. It was a monster. One day Brad decided he was going to get the ol' girl out and take her for a spin. Using our driveway, which had a fairly steep slope, he took off and started pedaling furiously. This, according to my brother, was no small feat. The gears were dirty and it took all of his effort to push the pedals. (I believe I was about 3 at the time, so he was 12.) After circling the neighborhood a few times, Brad began his return home. Approaching the house, cruising at top speeds and unable to brake, he was planning to bail out on the front lawn. Just as he entered the yard, a tiny, tanned figure darted out in front of him. (That was me - most likely overwhelmed with jubilance for my big brother's return.) The large metal basket on the front of the bike bonked me on the head and I was knocked to the ground. The next thing that happened, according to Brad’s report, was that he heard (and felt) a "thump, thump", "thump, thump" sound as he traveled over my small body. By the time he had leapt from the bike, I was laying sprawled out on the lawn crying.
My brother felt bad for running me over on his bike, but not bad enough to prevent him from telling me about the incident repeatedly throughout my childhood. Isn’t that what big brothers are for?
Stumble It!
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