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This is a question Siblings

Brothers and sisters - can't live with 'em, can't stove 'em to death with the coal scuttle and bury 'em behind the local industrial estate. Tell us about yours.

Thanks to suboftheday for the suggestion -we're keeping the question open for another week for the New Year

(, Thu 25 Dec 2008, 17:20)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Can we
have a new QOTW now?

Pretty please?

This one's shit, and too similar to previous ones.

I might even buy an icon if you change it.
(, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 12:06, 2 replies)
Pearoast from 'Family Holidays'
**** The Director's Cut: edited a little bit, because I can, so there ****

When I turned four my parents decided it was time for our first family holiday. My younger brother was barely 18 months old, so a trip abroad would have been hell. Plus we couldn't afford it, so Butlins* was the natural second choice. By the end of an exhausting week (for my parents), all the kids in the camp were rounded up for a final magic show with a sensational prize: a HUGE bucket full of lollipops.

Believe me when I say I wanted those lollies more than anything before or since.

Dad was looking after my sleeping brother at the back of the room, so I pressed forwards into the pre-school mosh pit at the front, hoping it might increase my chances of winning the magical tub of sugarjoy.

Tension built as the magician rummaged around in a top hat full of our names. Finally, to a chorus of rapturous squeaks he produced a crumpled scrap of paper and announced... somebody else. I remember feeling gutted and sulking immediately. In the background I could hear my dad shouting something but I was too consumed with grief to care. Eventually, my attention re-focused on the stage as the magician was still waiting for someone to come forwards. He kept repeating the winner's name, and each time he did so, dad's calls to me drifted pointlessly over the sea of kiddynoise, into one ear, and straight out the other.

The magician grew bored and asked his pint-sized audience if he should draw another name. The reply was a resounding, fever-pitch “YAY!” from all of the mewling brats below. I shouted louder than anyone, struggling to believe that I’d been granted a second chance to win all those lollies.

By now, dad was wading through the swirling maelstrom of ankle-biters towards the front of the stage, which only made me more determined to win before he took me back home. Just as he got within grabbing distance, the magician announced a second name. The winner (a girl standing right next to me) bounced three feet onto the stage to claim her prize. I felt my eyes welling up with tears.

These were soon shaken away as I received a clip round the ear from my fuming father. The first name the magician announced had been my baby brother’s, so my dad had been shouting at me to put my hand up on his behalf. My lolly-induced tunnel vision and selective hearing, combined with exceptional 4-year old naivety meant I’d ignored my bro's name and missed out on a share in the ultimate prize.

When I realised the magnitude of my error five seconds later I cried for the rest of the week and had recurring nightmares about it for years afterwards. My dad and brother still remind me of what could have been every single time they see anything lollipop-related.

I’m 29.

* For those who haven't experienced Butlins, it's similar to Auschwitz but with more clowns.
(, Thu 8 Jan 2009, 4:02, 11 replies)
My bro's first hospital ride. Thanks to.... Me. :D
Oh where to begin... Let me start by saying that I do very much love my brother. We are (as adults) best friends. Growing up... Not so much. I have way to many horror stories to write them all down, so I'll start with the first of them. :)

I, being the oldest, always tried to help my parents with the taking care of my little brother. (I'm a whole 18 months older than he is. A lot of help I was...) On this fateful day (I don't remember when it was as I was maybe 3, but I've heard (and told) the story many a time. :)) My lovely family was napping and as fate sometimes works, somehow, I was the only one to hear my darling brother crying. Obviously I had watched my parents give him his bottle on numerous occasions, so me being the big helper I was, decided to get my beloved brother his bottle. Now everyone has seen Kool-aid. It comes in all sorts of bright pretty colors. Now what maybe not everyone is familiar with, Lamp oil, it also comes in all sorts of bright pretty colors... I'm sure you can all see where I'm going with this. I filled my brothers bottle with flamable lamp oil instead of the yummy, sweet, kool-aid. Luckily for my brother, lamp oil isn't as tasty as kool-aid and made him cry even louder, which did wake my folks up. And that, my friends, is how I scored my brother his first ride in an ambulance. As far as I know, that's the only time. Hmmmm. I'm such a nice sister!!

And that is also how the cherry pops! :D
(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 20:52, 7 replies)
lol, funny story....
...I almost did my sister! But it just didn't feel right.

(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 19:40, 2 replies)
Scarpe just reminded me...
When I was naught but a little Empressette, about 18 months old, I had a favorite stuffed toy lamb called Aggy. I took Aggy everywhere with me, and even had to have her next to the tub when I was in the bath.

One day, my parents had taken my older brother (about 8 years old) and I to a lunch party with friends of theirs. We weren't allowed to the end of the garden as there was a big deep pond there, but were allowed to play on the verandah. Where there was a small ornamental fishpond.

I was toddling around, dragging Aggy by the ears, when I went and stared into the fishpond. And dropped Aggy into the water. My brother, seeing this, very kindly went to retrieve my toy. Which involved him kneeling on the edge of the pond and leaning forwards to fish Aggy out. So, naturally, as every toddler would do, I gave him a hearty shove in the arse, pitching him face-first into the water.

This was nearly 25 years ago, I don't even remember the incident, and he still hasn't quite forgiven me. Aggy, I'm happy to report, was fine after a spin in the washing machine.
(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 17:19, 4 replies)
We did it.

Sean and Amelie McCann

(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 17:02, 2 replies)
ooh, I remember one real one. I nearly drowned my brother.
I must have been about 9 and he about 6.

We were on holiday in, I think, Jersey. There was a beach with a big rocky tower thing sticking out of the sea.

My memory of this is hazy, but if I recall, you could walk out to it at low tide, but it was quite a long way to swim too when the tide was in. And neither of us could really swim that well anyway (I still can't to my shame).

We walked out to it to climb it.

We got a to a bit where we couldn't go any higher without a hand up, so I helped him up onto a ledge. Then realised I couldn't get up there.

We both panicked a bit, cos he couldn't get down and I couldn't get up.

So I did what any responsible older brother would do.

I went to play in the rock pools.

Then toddled off back to my parents when I saw the tide coming in.

Who asked where he was. I shrugged and said 'he was climbing those rocks' and pointed to where I'd left him.

Where the tide was already coming in.

And there was no sign of my brother on the ledge where I had abandoned him.

Cue: Blind panic. My mother crying, my dad legging it into the sea and clambering up the rocks.

Where he found my brother sitting, just out of sight, as the tide came further and further in, crying his eyes out while waiting to drown.

My Dad had to carry him back to water level and then swim him back.

I got bollocked.

(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 16:49, 2 replies)
Misplaced trust...
"Wouldn't it be cool" I said to the younger sibling "if you put your coat over your head and I lead you along by the sleeve?"

"Yeah!" eagerly agreed the naive 10 year old.

"Wouldn't it be cool" thought my brain "if I accidentally walked him into that there wall?"

"Yeah" sneered the wall before opening up his head a bit.

He still has the scar, and he frequently reminds me of just how cool it wasn't.
(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 16:37, 2 replies)
My brother growing up wasn’t actually my brother, he was my cousin
His parents died in a car crash when we were little, so he lived with us most of my childhood. Since we were both just babies when it happened, neither of us really knew his parents. I guess I never really considered him a cousin at all, more of a brother, but he didn’t seem to think that kindly of me. I think that was because my parents tried to spoil me rotten and couldn’t care less for him – something about my Mum and his having a falling out when they were teenagers.

We never really got along that well when we were kids, sibling rivalry and all that. I was in all kinds of sports and he basically stayed inside reading all the time and didn’t try to make any friends. I will admit I was friends with some bullies, which I regret fully now; and my friends always picked on him because he was pale and scrawny. To his credit, he did win some fights and he was an amazingly fast runner, so I didn’t worry about defending him. I think it made him tougher, later in life he and I even got attacked one time in an alley in the bad part of town and he defended us both while I promptly pissed myself. Not my proudest moment, but it proves all the childhood bullying just helped him later in life! Or so I tell myself.

Anyway, when we were about 11, this old creepy guy started sending him things in the mail, feeding him bullshit about his parents. He had apparently known them and done all kinds of drugs with them back in the 70s. My Dad tried to keep the paedo away, but since my cousin was starving for friends, he ended up going to a different school where he could be closer to his “mentor.” His parents must have handed down their drug addiction, because every summer when he came back from school he had even more delusions of grandeur and crazy ideas in his head. I got a little scared of him for a few years there, even started trying to avoid him when he came home for breaks.

It just went downhill from there; he even helped an escaped convict evade the police and joined a group of violent vigilantes! He and his friends protested some politician they thought was evil, saying he drank unicorn blood and wild things like that. They eventually got the politician assassinated, and I've always secretly had my suspicions that my cousin may have had more to do with this than he claims.

He has since settled down and had some kids, and we still send the occasional Christmas card, and our kids get along much better than we ever did. I try to keep an ear out when our families spend time together in case he tries to poison the minds of my little ones with his talks of wizardry and saving the world from Voldemort, but so far he's stayed on the straight and narrow.

(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 16:18, 9 replies)

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