A Hoe and a Hanging

So, as you know, Bill and I could have done a header into a hole in a frozen Montanan lake. As the oldest child one could argue that I was responsible.  I should have known we were heading toward thin ice.  The worst didn’t happen but as I was writing my last post (Ice Fishing and Hershey's Hot Chocolate) I started thinking about a couple of other times when I actually came much closer to “doin’ my brother in.”

One time, when we were little and lived in Spokane, in a house on a corner lot that had a big garden in it; Bill and I were with Mom weeding the garden  I followed close behind Mom with my miniature hoe. I loved that hoe.  It looked just like Moms, only shorter, made with a wooden handle and a sharp green metal blade.

The three of us were busy.  Mom was working the rows, pulling the weeds, squishing the bugs living under the leaves and slicing the tomato worms with her hoe. I followed along behind her, copying her every move.  Bill was behind me, I have no idea what he was doing.  Then, it happen, a big fat tomato worm fell from a plant onto the path between mom and me.  Mom didn’t see it fall.  This was my chance! This worm was mine!  Carefully, I planted my feet. Once I knew that I had a good sight line on that creature I raised my weapon; one quick swing, high over my head behind me and then the downward plunge through my unsuspecting victim. Squirt!

As I was intently taking aim my brother screamed. Was he afraid of me killing that monster? I didn’t care!  I was a 6 year old with a mission! I was bent on destroying that green blob.  The hoe came down. The deed was done.  My aim had been true. I had made a clean slice.  The thing had been severed – no more to eat our tomatoes.  I turned to my brother to tease him for being such a sissy; for crying out when I was about to conquer that monster. His face was ghostly white, his eyes were bulging and blood was spurting out of the top of his head.  My brother got my upward stroke and the worm my downward. 

Fast forward several years – the Montana years. It’s winter (again). The snow is deep and once again my brother and I are bored. So Mom suggested that we go play in the garage.  Dad was at work and so the garage was empty.  It was the 1970’s the era of Cowboy movies, Cowboy TV shows (remember Bonanza, and Have Gun Will Travel, The Wild, Wild, West, and the Lone Ranger?) and it wasn’t considered politically incorrect to play “Cowboys and Indians”.  I was the oldest so I was the Cowboy and my brother was the Indian.  As our game reached its climax, I finally captured the troublesome little brother (the Indian).  He was sentenced to hang…just like on TV.  I tied a jump rope around his neck and threw the end of the rope over the garage rafter.  Bill compliantly stood on a box, hands behind him, handkerchief covering his eyes.  I pushed the box out from under his feet.  The jump rope, not tied to the rafter, caught just enough to tighten the rope around Bill’s neck before he fell to the floor, jump rope crumbling on top of him.

Unfortunately, for me, Mom opened the garage door right at the moment that I was kicking the box, so there was no excuse I could create to explain the rope burn around my brother’s neck.  We never played in the garage again.  Come to think of it I don't think I ever played with the hoe again either.

I’m sure I’m not the only sibling to endanger the life and well being of a sibling...what are your stories?