.
It left a scar. I still feel bad for that one.
By the time I was nine, I had fallen in a campfire, walked through a glass door, fallen off a roof and slashed my eye open on a vine, made a bathtub overflow and flood the house, cleaned my room by throwing everything out the window, gotten knocked through a glass window with a wasps nest inside it while swordfighting, fallen on my back out of a tall pine tree, jumped out of a moving van before it careened off a hill into a lake, jumped off a horse before it did pretty much the same thing, did a header off my bike into cement and into a creek, projectile vomited across a train car on the way from San Fransisco to L.A, and had a baseball bounce off my knee at first base and go all the way back to the pitcher's mound.
I would frequently steal cookies from freshly made batches and hide while eating them. I stole my dad's porn videos. One time I made 900 number calls when I was over at a friend's house and when his parents got the phone bill and saw the charges, they figured out it happened when I was over there, but I lied and said it wasn't me anyway even though I'd been caught red-handed.
I lied about a bunch of stuff, changing when I said my birthday was several times, I said I had a brother that lived in New Jersey, said I was born in Canada, and one time in 6th grade I told my social studies teacher I had taken a poll of the students on the presidential race. She had them read the results on the morning announcements the next day. Only problem was I completely made the results up!
When my older brother got his first girlfriend, she had two sisters, and me and my younger brother both wrote love letters to each of them. When the sister I wrote to came up to me at school I completely ignored her and acted like I never wrote her. I still feel a little bad about that one.
Sliding down the stairs on cardboard box tops, riding my bike down really steep rocky hills, touching the "DO NOT TOUCH - HOT" t-shirt press at the t-shirt making store, and of course all the prank calls. Prank calls were so much easier in the days before caller ID. Then there was pushing all the floors of the elevator in a 20-story hotel and jumping out, sneaking out of our hotel both years of Junior Historians club trips to the state conventions in Galveston and Austin.
Oh, and when I was 4, I pooped in the sandbox in our yard.
This stuff is just the tip of the iceberg, really, but that's all I feel like writing right now.
By the time I was nine, I had fallen in a campfire, walked through a glass door, fallen off a roof and slashed my eye open on a vine, made a bathtub overflow and flood the house, cleaned my room by throwing everything out the window, gotten knocked through a glass window with a wasps nest inside it while swordfighting, fallen on my back out of a tall pine tree, jumped out of a moving van before it careened off a hill into a lake, jumped off a horse before it did pretty much the same thing, did a header off my bike into cement and into a creek, projectile vomited across a train car on the way from San Fransisco to L.A, and had a baseball bounce off my knee at first base and go all the way back to the pitcher's mound.
I would frequently steal cookies from freshly made batches and hide while eating them. I stole my dad's porn videos. One time I made 900 number calls when I was over at a friend's house and when his parents got the phone bill and saw the charges, they figured out it happened when I was over there, but I lied and said it wasn't me anyway even though I'd been caught red-handed.
I lied about a bunch of stuff, changing when I said my birthday was several times, I said I had a brother that lived in New Jersey, said I was born in Canada, and one time in 6th grade I told my social studies teacher I had taken a poll of the students on the presidential race. She had them read the results on the morning announcements the next day. Only problem was I completely made the results up!
When my older brother got his first girlfriend, she had two sisters, and me and my younger brother both wrote love letters to each of them. When the sister I wrote to came up to me at school I completely ignored her and acted like I never wrote her. I still feel a little bad about that one.
Sliding down the stairs on cardboard box tops, riding my bike down really steep rocky hills, touching the "DO NOT TOUCH - HOT" t-shirt press at the t-shirt making store, and of course all the prank calls. Prank calls were so much easier in the days before caller ID. Then there was pushing all the floors of the elevator in a 20-story hotel and jumping out, sneaking out of our hotel both years of Junior Historians club trips to the state conventions in Galveston and Austin.
Oh, and when I was 4, I pooped in the sandbox in our yard.
This stuff is just the tip of the iceberg, really, but that's all I feel like writing right now.
