Pandas and koalas. “Just make it super random and call it that.” I asked my sister Jessica what I should write about for this week. One of her answers: Panda bears.
“Our readers don’t wanna read about Panda Bears,” I responded earnestly.
“Then write about Koalas,” Jessica responded.
“I’ll do a double feature, Pandas and Koalas, the real story,” I said jokingly, “the double feature will bring in more readers.”
If anyone ever wonders where I come up with my ideas, thank my family. They give me more than enough to write about. A couple weeks ago I wrote about my sister getting us our first pets. This week I’m gonna write about how she helped me with my first scar.
When I was a three year old boy my father was a little too busy to watch my brother, sister and me all on his own. The result was daycare with Mrs. Ferber. One day the other kids and I thought it was a fun idea to run up and down the hall. While doing so, my sister expected that I was going to run into the corner of the wall next to the hall I was running down. So what did she do? She pushed me right into the wall. On my favorite lunch day of the month, I didn’t get to eat. Instead I got a visit to the neighborhood clinic for some stitches.
That was not the only “incident” that happened during daycare. Mrs. Ferber wasn’t the only daycare we attended. Other days we would stay at “Joie’s” up the street. Well known as a grandmother to the Wagner children, she was like another family member. For a long time we would go up the street to stay at her house or she would come to our house and babysit.
Some of our visits to Joie’s house ended better than others. I specifically remember one time more vividly than any other.
As an innocent little kid, around the age of five, I had gone to use the bathroom. Little did I know what was about to happen. After relieving myself I flushed the toilet. Nothing happened. I didn’t think anything of it and flushed again and it started, so I went back to playing with my toys upstairs.
The next thing I know Joie is yelling for me to get downstairs right this second. The toilet was overflowing and it was all my fault. I burst into tears. I didn’t know what was happening. All I could say was I didn’t do anything. All I did was go potty. That wasn’t enough for old grandma Joey. I was to fix this mess immediately. I was in there in what felt like waist deep water for what felt like an hour. Bawling my eyes out the entire time did not help the water level.
When Joey finally felt like I learned my “lesson” she told me to come out of there. She found me a clean pair of pants. (I think they were either pink or light purple sweats, something I would not be caught dead wearing at that age) It wasn’t until I got home that I learned the truth. My sister Jessica betrayed me. She stood there and watched me endure the worst torture of my life, all because she couldn’t man up to her man sized deuce.
To this day, I will never forget this brutal act of betrayal. I will never forgive my sister until I get her back with something equally scarring. Like writing about it for the world to read! Thought for the day, beware what you say and how you treat Star Eagle writers. You never know what will end up the topic of discussion!