Flashback Friday #5

You've got mail........and it's all black

Hello, and welcome to another edition of Flashback Friday. I hinted last week about how you go about blackmailing a seven year old. Here is the story behind it.

When I was seven, I wanted to grow up to be something brave & daring, like a big game hunter or pirate. As kids we ALWAYS had toy guns available, and if all of those were in use, a trusty stick would work.

One day my brother and I were sword fighting with dowel rods that dad had for some woodworking project he had going. The mock battle took place in the living room. We had futuristic swords, as they could transform into guns or spears at a moments notice. My brother hefted his dowel rod, and threw it like a spear at me, striking me in the chest. Mortally wounded, I heaved mine at him. He became a Dickens's character (The Artful Dodger) and jumped out of the way. The projectile sailed past him, right through the lampshade of the ruby red lamp that sat on top of the TV.

"AWWWWW!!!! I'm gonna tell mom that you damaged her antique lamp". I wasn't sure what antique meant, but it didn't sound good. "Nooooooo!!! Don't tell". I implored. "Can it be fixed?", I asked. At the bottom of the shade was a neat little hole that looked like I had taken a rather large hole punch to. We put the cutout hole back in, and turned the shade around, so no one would notice. "You're gonna be in big trouble when mom finds out." my brother growled.

"Please don't tell, I'll do anything." (Kids, if you ever find yourself saying these words, go immediately to your parents & tell on yourself. It will be much easier, I promise.) "OK, I won't tell if you do my chores today.", he said. Thinking I was in the clear, I heartily agreed. One day lead to another, which lead to another, (you get my drift). Between blackmail & the Tingler (see last Flashback Friday), he never had to do anything he didn't want to up to the time he joined the Army, seven years later.

After he went into the Army, I confessed to my mom that I had damaged her antique lamp. "What antique lamp" she asked. "The red one on the TV." I replied. "That's not an antique lamp." she said, "Your grandpa found that in the trash on his garbage route. It doesn't even work. I just thought it was pretty, and use it for decoration." To quote Charlie Brown "ARRRGGGHHH". Seven years of forced servitude for a lamp that was picked out of the trash.

If you get nothing else from this post, take these words of wisdom, "Mess up- Fess up". It could save you a lot of headaches down the road.