Another relic from the Trunk O' Writing Junk

Here's another assignment from high school. What's with teachers thinking it's a good idea to write about childhood experiences? I suspect my teacher was trying to decide whether I was a smart ass or if she should have called Child Protective Services. Again, I posted it with all the mistakes that were in the copy I found in the Trunk O' Writing Junk. (I previously posted another "childhood memory" that I had to write about in high school.) A Weekend to Remember

"Everybody get into the damn car. Now!" Dad screamed angrily. It was stunning and totally unbelievable. We were on our way to Minneapolis to see Grandmother and Dad's temper was trying to run away before we even got out of the yard. I could tell that it was going to be a weekend that I'd never forget.

We were out of the driveway and approximately two minutes down the road before my brother started fighting with me. Two minutes was a new record for us, we usually started fighting as soon as we got into the car.

"You're on my side of the seat. Get away from me."

"No, you're smaller than me. My legs are all cramped up. I'm just going to stretch my legs out on your side. Okay?" My older brother replied. I could see his point, the back seat of a two-door Escort isn't exactly room, but why should I be nice to him? He always picked on me.

"No! Get away from me. My legs are cramped too. You don't see my feet on your side of the floor. Do you?"

"Of course not. Your legs are so short, they barely reach the floor on your own side," he insulted. I couldn't think of a quick reply so I decided that action was probably the best policy. As I was trying to physically remove his feet from my side of the floor, he slugged me in the arm and killed all the feeling to my right arm. Screaming and whining, I did my very best to get him into trouble. "Dad, he hit me."

"Well then you probably deserved it," my wonderful father retorted.

As Mom turned around in her seat she gave us a tired look. "Can you two please try to behave?"

Dad was still grumbling, but for once it was aimed at someone other than me. He asked if Mom had remembered a map so we could find Grandmother's new apartment.

My brother, the five year old know it all, replied in a nauseating sweet voice, "No. Did you?"

"I don't want to hear another sound out of either of you until we get to your Grandma's," he yelled as he turned around to glare at us. "And if I do hear another sound from your two mouths, I'm going to turn this car around and go straight home."

"Hey, pay attention to the road," screeched Mom. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Who's driving this damn car? Me or you?" he screamed right back. "Can't you control those little brats of yours?"

"They're your kids too," she tried to share the blame of our existence.

"No, they aren't! I just disowned them. I don't know which animal shelter you found them at, but I wish to hell that you would have just left them there." After hearing that, I started to bawl. I was sure that they were going to take us to some animal shelter and trade us in for a pet donkey.

Mom tried to comfort me and explain that Dad was just joking, but it wasn't very convincing to my three-year-old mind. It might have convinced me if Dad hadn't been screaming at the top of his lungs, "You better shut up back there or I'll give you something to really cry about."

I glanced over at my brother and saw that he was making faces at the back of Dad's seat. As I watched, I tried to imagine what effect the snapping gum in my brother's mouth was having on Dad. I decided that his short temper was probably pretty close to snapping and that big vein in his forehead was about to pop.

"I'm sick of hearing you chew your cud like a stinking cow, boy. If you don't knock it off, I'm going to rip your leg off and beat you to death with the bloody stump. And there's not going to be a damn thing you can do about it."

After that last threat we decided it was probably best to shut up before he killed us. So we quickly zipped our lips and settled down.

"See, Dear, all you had to do was ask nicely," my mother pointed out in a rather helpful way.

It was a rather quiet weekend since Dad wouldn't talk to any of us and none of us wanted to visit Grandma anyway. There's one more reason that I'll never forget that weekend, it was the last time we ever took a family trip.