Sibling Torture - An Art Perfected Through the Generations

Some families are renown for their dedication to the preservation of artisan skills – wine making, the crafting of fine musical instruments, or perhaps simply a sour dough starter that has been worked for decades into crispy aromatic loaves. My family, however, has a rather different specialty ….Sibling Torture.

Each generation has left its mark (in some cases literally) on this long-standing tradition. The earliest recorded, and might I add least sophisticated effort, was made by my Great Grandfather Albert. It involved slipping a dead mouse into his brother's collection basket during their weekly wild mushroom hunt. We're unsure if he intended some sort of far-reaching gastrointestinal nightmare for the entire family, or just acted on a whim. Fortunately, the only ramifications were blood-curdling screams from his sister during the mushroom prep process later that afternoon.

My grandmother, Florence, introduced surveillance to the family art at the turn of the century. Second to the youngest in a family with six siblings, she perfected stealth approach, camouflage and had the patience of Job as she lay in wait for each of her victims. When the time was right, she would creep forward and then let out a banshee-like wail from about half a foot away that set hair standing on end and took years off of young lives.

Grandma's career in guerrilla shriek warfare was cut short late one evening in the family barn. Their father was away on business, and Clarence, her eldest brother was already a bit nervous about being the "man of the house" and seeing to the animals after dark. Grandma had sequestered herself in the shadows, but slightly overconfident, her approach was not made in as silent a mode as necessary. Envisioning a tramp or hobo coming after him from the dark corners behind the hay bales, Clarence grabbed the big pulley hanging from the center rafter and swung it viciously behind him. It cracked Grandma squarely in the middle of her forehead – and left quite a scar (which is how I heard the story.)

Historic events often added flavor to the technique of each generation's preferred Sibling Torture method. My Uncle Bill was in flight school shortly before the start of WWII. He was also about fifteen years older than my father, who absolutely idolized him.

One day, Dad came plowing down the sidewalk on his way back from  school. As was his routine, he ran up to the kitchen door, since that was the closest entrance to the bathroom. (He was terribly shy and hated having to ask the nuns if he could be excused during class – they usually said no anyway….)

The side door was locked. Puzzled Dad ran around to the front door – but found that one sealed up tight as well. The call of nature was getting more urgent by the second. He started pounding and hollering for his mother to open the door. Just as he was about to give up and head next door to the neighbors, he heard the bolt being thrown and the knob turn.

There stood my Uncle Bill, wearing a 1941-issue gas mask and breathing much as Darth Vader would decades later. Dad backed up slowly, didn't say a word, and started walking. Family lore says that he went around the block 3 times, before my grandmother made Bill go out and get him. To his credit, Dad held his water through the entire ordeal.

My sister and I were less sophisticated in our methods of Sibling Torture. They mostly consisted of tattling, hiding favorite toys and the occasional pinch during Sunday Mass. My brother, on the other hand – turned out to be the keeper of the flame. He kept his talent hidden though, until I was 15.

One night, after I had viewed The Exorcist on newly installed cable, Buster made his move. Despite my parents warnings that it was probably not a good idea (I am to this day the biggest chicken on the planet when it comes to scary movies) I had spent two hours glued to the sofa scared out of my wits.

I was the last one awake in the house, so when the film ended it was my job to extinguish the family room lights before bed. My parents were sticklers about saving energy. While I wasn't crazy about making my way through a dark house after watching Linda Blair's head spin, I dreaded a lecture from my father over breakfast the next day even more.

I took a deep breath, clicked off the lamp switch and slowly made my way up the hall. It was only about twenty feet or so to my bedroom, but my eyes were taking their sweet time adjusting to the lack of light. I'd made it about five feet toward my destination, when something ice cold shot out from floor of the bathroom doorway and grabbed my ankles.

Now, I'd consumed a great deal of soda during my viewing of The Exorcist. Let's just say that I didn't inherit my father's superhuman bladder control. That genetic failing manifested itself in something of a deluge as I screamed for a priest. My brother, to this day, claims I tried to drown him.

Unwittingly, I seem to have passed along the Sibling Torture chromosome to my own children. All of them take a great deal of glee in teasing, tormenting and tattling on each other. But one child exhibited a new and surprisingly bizarre twist to the legacy.

My eldest daughter went through a phase in grade school where she felt the need to bestow truly horrible haircuts on her younger brothers. As if leaving them looking as if they'd been scalped with a lawnmower weren't bad enough, she also threatened their lives and action figures if they so much as breathed a word about how they came to be in that state. The first time, they prudently wore hats for three days, going so far as to sleep in them. When the gig was finally up, we asked Michaela why she had done such a thing. Her reply was, "They deserved it." She refused to elaborate. What's worse, it happened on three other occasions in spite of severe and mounting repercussions at each episode. I shudder to think what those boys must have done to provoke such an attack….

These are but a few of the tales recounting the development of Sibling Torture technique over the generations in our family. We are of course, expecting our first grandchild soon. Hopefully, Michaela and Derek will decide to make the little one an only child….