Or, at least he should.  My brother was born just shy of my 2nd birthday.  Apparently he had some health issues at birth.  From that moment on he had the sympathy vote.  Oh, and he was the only boy.  ( think I mentioned that before).  By memory I can’t recall when I started torturing picking on my brother.  However, there seems to be some photo documentation.  See below.

Legend has it that he is crying and screaming because I reached over and pinched his hand.  It appears I could be trying to make my getaway when the photographer snapped the picture.  He was 2 and I was 4.  Just so you know…I think he could have been crying because of that hideous outfit.  Geez.

Then there was that time I almost killed him.  Ya see, we had a guy over installing a brand new dishwasher.  I hope my mom didn’t pay him much because when he left he laid down a handful of “extra parts” on the kitchen table.  While my mom was on the phone, calling everyone in town to brag about her new appliance, I figured I would entertain myself by forcing my brother to sniff pepper off the table.  Shake.  Shake.  Shake.  Grab back of brother’s head.  Force down toward table surface.  Demand him to sniff.  Evil grin.  Repeat.  Evil grin.  So, it wasn’t long before I realized he had SUCKED A WASHER UP HIS NOSE!  (Remember the extra dishwasher parts?)  He raised his head and you could barely see the doughnut-shaped washer.  That little turd starting crying-BIG TIME!  My mom was still on the phone not paying attention to us at all.  I’m trying to get by brother to shut up.  Snot dripping everywhere.  Then he gets the snubs.  Anyone know what that is?  For all I know it could be a made-up word.  Basically he started sniffing really hard.  OMG.  You could see the washer move further up his nose, almost to the corner of his eye.  Uh, oh.  I’m holding my hand over his mouth, trying to get him to shut up. Maybe trying to suffocate him?  I think I had already received a spanking earlier in the day.  The second one would be 10 times harder.  Trust me!  He let out a bloodcurdling scream.  Oh, gosh.  I could here our mom coming down the hall.  “What the hell are you doing to him?  Didn’t I tell you to leave him alone.  I’m going to beat your…What the…”  Yep.  She saw it.  Ummm…

She tenderly grabbed his arm, grabbed me by my hair and threw us in the car.  Of course, I still had to ride in the back!  He’s screaming (big baby), she’s screaming (loud mouth) and I’m just shrugging my shoulders.  So mom’s asking me what happened, he’s still screaming, and I said “well, I’m not for sure, but I think he was sniffing pepper off the table and accidentally sucked up some of the leftover dishwasher parts.”  She yelled said “you wait ’til I get you home, girly.  You’re going to get it!”  Gosh. She had no proof it was me.  Besides, he’s screaming and crying so loud he couldn’t tell her.  I get blamed for everything!  Although in this case, I really did it.

Enter ER. 

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I’m a product of the 70s.  1974 to be exact.  The #1 song on the day I was born was ‘Billy Don’t Be a Hero’ by Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods.  I’m pretty sure that song was about war.  What a bummer.  Not exactly the anthem you want announcing your arrival, but nothing I can do about it now (or then either).

The 70s rocked!  So did the 80s. I still remember the cool clothes, music, and toys. I’m guessing my family was poor (that’s what my mom said) but I didn’t know it at the time.  Us, poor?  Hey, I had cool stuff. Really cool stuff.  Those were the days of layaway, I guess.  My mom probably put our Christmas gifts on layaway in March. Now folks just put it on a credit card.  GUILTY.

My toys were the greatest.  I wished I would have saved them.  I remember laying in front of the television with my sister and brother looking through “The Wish Book” , planning what to put on our Christmas lists.  By the way, that was one of the few times we got along.  That catalog must have been mailed out in July because I swear I remember looking at it for months. If I would have saved my toys they would probably be worth a fortune and I could retire early if I sold ‘em.  Right.  Who am I kidding?  I was a tomboy.  Mostly I would cut their hair off, color on them or drop them off the porch to see if they would bounce.  I bet my sister’s toys would still look new.  Just sayin’.

Gosh, where do I start? I guess my absolute favorite toy was:

‘Milky the Marvelous Milking Cow’

Yes, that’s right.  Milky.  As corny as it was, he came with a trough and little white ‘milk’ pills.  You could pump his tail, he would drink water and then…you milked him.  No, I’m not kidding.  I thought this was the coolest thing ever!  Eventually Milky’s udders dry-rotted.  What a sad day.

Cabbage Patch Kids

I had several, but my very first was Gladys Raylean.  Gladys has a pretty pink dress and curly, light-brown hair made of yarn.  Her birth certificate indicated her date of birth was October 1st.  I still have her, unless my mom gave her away to my niece.  Later came Braden Felix who had a head gear and braces to match mine.  (as if it wasn’t bad enough, I was the fat kid WITH a head gear).

My record player

I got this bad boy for Christmas one year.  My sister got one too, just like it.  Santa must have not wanted us to fight because he brought us matching record player and 2 records-both the same.  Sad Eyes and Funky Town.  My sister and I shared a room. Santa must have thought it would not be an issue with 2 kids playing 2 record players with different records at the same time.  Boy, Santa should have discussed that with our mom.  She sure was ill.  Hmm…

Mr. Professor Calculator

He was awesome, although he really didn’t help improve my math skills.  At 35 years old, I still use my fingers to count.  My kid has tons of electronics that do amazing things…I had a calculator.  WOW.

Playdoh Barbershop

I’m not exactly sure what my obsession was with playdoh hair.  Of course, I could only play with it on the back porch since my mom didn’t want me to ruin her harvest gold shag carpet.  Anyway, it was cool.

My Jam Box

This thing must have weighed 15 pounds.  It ran on batteries, D, I think.  Maybe 6 of them.  It had a cassette player which was an upgrade from the record and 8-track player.  I remember it was “hip” to carry it on your shoulder.  Not sure that was the best design considering the weight of the thing.

A VCR

Okay, so you think this is not a big deal.  Well in 1986, this was a BIG DEAL.  VCRs were fairly new since most people still had BETAs.  When I saw that Zenith VCR under the Christmas tree, I swear I heard angels.  Christmas morning my uncle Jim drove over and hooked it up.  My first recording was a re-run of Pee Wee Herman on the Joan Rivers Show. Yes, I remember that.  In fact, I still have the VCR tape.

My TRAPPER KEEPER!

While not a toy, there is one thing I loved so much I carried it EVERYDAY.  Kids today have no idea what this is, but I’m sure I’m not the only kid to have a Trapper Keeper.  I loved it when we went school supply shopping but nothing could replace my Trapper Keeper.

What’s not to love about the 70s and 80s.  If only I had a time machine…

First, let’s start with ‘What is Middle-Child Syndrome?’

MCS is an emotional scarring condition.  A disposition that generally arises with the middle child of three children in a household. Middle children often lack the attention that the oldest (the most important child) and the youngest (the parent’s favorite child) receive.  Middle child syndrome is often characterized by: lack of friends,  inability to maintain relationships, extreme creativity (writing, music, art, etc.), an easy going personality, trouble choosing a career path, trouble maintaining a career, quick loss of interest in things, negative outlook on life, half-assing, and indecisiveness. Pretty darned close.

I had the misfortune pleasure of being sandwiched between an older sister who was pretty, popular and near perfect AND a younger brother who possibly had a near genius IQ, was a “mama’s boy”, and favored not only because he was the youngest, but also that he was the only boy.

I probably should go ahead and state that I love both siblings.   BUT, I still suffer from this syndrome, as I am constantly reminded, and I constantly remind them and my mother.  Speaking of my mother…she did a great job raising us.  My dad died at the age of 34, leaving my mom  with a 7 year old, a 3 year old (ME) and a 15 month old.  We all turned out okay. No incarcerations.  No drug or alcohol addictions.  We are all pretty normal, well sort of.

I always felt like the black sheep of the family. 

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“Everything else you grow out of, but you never recover from childhood”

~Beryl Bainbridge

I’ve been thinking alot about my childhood lately.  This usually happens about once a year when my birthday is quickly approaching.  Plus, this year I will be spending my birthday in New York City.  Technically, the trip was planned around a concert, not really my birthday.  Yep.  The concert.  Another “blast from the past”.  New Kids on the Block.  NKOTB (now that they are in their late 30s and 40s).  Those were the days. I must have been around 15 or 16 when the obsession started.  I was their #1 FAN!  Posters covering every inch of my walls, literally.  Writing hundreds and hundreds of pen pals with the same obsession.  Spending all of my earnings from my job at McDonalds on TeenBeat and BOP magazines (do these even exist now?).  Buying concert tickets.  (In the late 80s and 90s I think I went to at least 8).  Falling in ‘love’ with Jordan Knight, staking my claim on him, forbiding my older sister to ‘like’ him, demanding she pick one of the other boy band members.  Just so you know, she picked Jordan’s older brother, Jon, who recently stepped out of the closet.  Just Sayin’.  So, anyway, I guess the upcoming concert and my fast approaching 36th birthday got me thinking ’bout ol’ times.

Are there things you vividly remember about your childhood?  I swear, I remember more from my childhood than I can recall from last week.  No kidding.  My cool toys, special Christmas gifts, popular songs and when I first heard them, good times, the bad times, the goofy clothes my mom made me wear, mostly because I was too fat to wear regular clothes, and the stupid, yet down right hilarious pranks things I did growing up.

I’m thinking it might be fun to blog about some of the stuff from my childhood.  Occasionally my stories will surface when certain topics come up in conversations.  Everyone usually breaks out into gut-busting laughter, probably doubting the validity of my stories.  Me, I know they are actual events from my real life.  Most people tell me I should write all this down so I can write a book.  What?  First of all, I will never forget.  Second, who has time to write a book?

Okay, so pull up a chair because over the next few weeks you’ll get to experience tiny bits from my childhood.  It may help explain why I am who I am today!

Tune in next time for…MIDDLE CHILD SYNDROME

“He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else.”

                                                                                 ~Benjamin Franklin

So, no excuses for why I haven’t blogged.  Here’s the truth.  I’m lazy.  That’s it.  Have a nice day.