In honor of my big brother's 28th birthday today, I decided to share some of my favorite/craziest memories of us together (and you can read more about my crazy big brother here and here). One thing's for sure: life is never dull with Bubba around.
1) I was a pretty conscientious kid. I always followed the rules, and one of my brother's favorite things to do was to try and get me to break them. I remember riding with him on the back of a four-wheeler in an open pasture when I was probably six or seven. All of a sudden, he took off toward a barbed-wire fence, telling me that if I didn't say the f-word that he'd run us into the fence. I resisted for a few seconds, trying to call his bluff. But he just kept right on going, and I became more horrified by the prospect of crashing into a fence than I was of the consequences of saying a bad word. So I screamed the f-word at the top of my lungs about fifteen times in a row. And I'm not going to lie. It felt really, really good.
2) One of the craziest things we ever did was get an old purse and attach a really long piece of fishing line to it. Then, we took a dollar bill and place it inside the purse so that it stuck out about halfway. And then we stuck it in the middle of the road and hid behind a fence, holding the other end of the fishing line. When people stopped to check out the purse, we yanked on the fishing line, and they'd chase it. I swear I'm not lying. But our plan was clearly very short-sighted, because eventually the person would end up heading right toward us. When one of the men started towards us, we just dropped the line and ran as fast as we could in the other direction. I'm pretty sure our parents got an earful from a really angry man that night. But it probably wasn't as bad as the time my brother threw tape balls at cars as they were driving by.
3) When my brother was in the Navy, he'd come home on leave, and I practically lived in bars the entire time he was home. Clearly, because I don't drink, I hadn't actually been in very many (read: no) bars before that, and it was a very foreign experience. The standing. The noise. The obnoxiousness and sloppiness of drunk people. But I did my good sisterly duty and tagged along because I really just missed my big brother and wanted to be where he was... even if he was in a loud, smoky bar. One night, we were getting ready to leave, and Bubba handed me his credit card and asked if I would close out his bar tab. So I went up to the bartender, handed her the card, and signed the receipt. She looked at the reciept, turned a violent shade of red, slammed the reciept back down on the bar, and said "I think you need to finish filling this out." I was utterly bewildered and walked over to my brother and told him what happened. He glanced down at the reciept, looking horrified. "Sis, how did you not tip her? I had a $150 bar tab!" he yelled. Um, apparently you're supposed to tip bartenders? Who knew? (I'm pretty sure my poor brother had to fork over like an 80% tip that night to make up for the fact that I'm an absolute idiot.)
I could definitely go on (and on), but I'm pretty sure I'd better not. I'll just say that my life would be completely incomplete without my brother. He's my hero. He's the person I call first when I'm scared or need the truth. And he's a constant pain in the butt. I can't wait to be an aunt to Miss Stella, just so I can buy her a drum set and inflict just a tiny, tiny portion of the hell that he inflicted on me. See supra number 1 above.
1) I was a pretty conscientious kid. I always followed the rules, and one of my brother's favorite things to do was to try and get me to break them. I remember riding with him on the back of a four-wheeler in an open pasture when I was probably six or seven. All of a sudden, he took off toward a barbed-wire fence, telling me that if I didn't say the f-word that he'd run us into the fence. I resisted for a few seconds, trying to call his bluff. But he just kept right on going, and I became more horrified by the prospect of crashing into a fence than I was of the consequences of saying a bad word. So I screamed the f-word at the top of my lungs about fifteen times in a row. And I'm not going to lie. It felt really, really good.
2) One of the craziest things we ever did was get an old purse and attach a really long piece of fishing line to it. Then, we took a dollar bill and place it inside the purse so that it stuck out about halfway. And then we stuck it in the middle of the road and hid behind a fence, holding the other end of the fishing line. When people stopped to check out the purse, we yanked on the fishing line, and they'd chase it. I swear I'm not lying. But our plan was clearly very short-sighted, because eventually the person would end up heading right toward us. When one of the men started towards us, we just dropped the line and ran as fast as we could in the other direction. I'm pretty sure our parents got an earful from a really angry man that night. But it probably wasn't as bad as the time my brother threw tape balls at cars as they were driving by.
3) When my brother was in the Navy, he'd come home on leave, and I practically lived in bars the entire time he was home. Clearly, because I don't drink, I hadn't actually been in very many (read: no) bars before that, and it was a very foreign experience. The standing. The noise. The obnoxiousness and sloppiness of drunk people. But I did my good sisterly duty and tagged along because I really just missed my big brother and wanted to be where he was... even if he was in a loud, smoky bar. One night, we were getting ready to leave, and Bubba handed me his credit card and asked if I would close out his bar tab. So I went up to the bartender, handed her the card, and signed the receipt. She looked at the reciept, turned a violent shade of red, slammed the reciept back down on the bar, and said "I think you need to finish filling this out." I was utterly bewildered and walked over to my brother and told him what happened. He glanced down at the reciept, looking horrified. "Sis, how did you not tip her? I had a $150 bar tab!" he yelled. Um, apparently you're supposed to tip bartenders? Who knew? (I'm pretty sure my poor brother had to fork over like an 80% tip that night to make up for the fact that I'm an absolute idiot.)
I could definitely go on (and on), but I'm pretty sure I'd better not. I'll just say that my life would be completely incomplete without my brother. He's my hero. He's the person I call first when I'm scared or need the truth. And he's a constant pain in the butt. I can't wait to be an aunt to Miss Stella, just so I can buy her a drum set and inflict just a tiny, tiny portion of the hell that he inflicted on me. See supra number 1 above.
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