The Prankster

December 16, 2011

My son is a tactically calculating prankster. And he’s only 6. Just turned, in fact. I don’t know where he gets it, and I say that in complete dishonesty because I know exactly where he gets it. He is, in very deed, my little clone.

A few months ago I had the pleasure of going to a family reunion of sorts at my parents’ place. I say “of sorts” because the whole family wasn’t there, but with 6 brothers and sisters (three each) that’s not too rare. Inevitably, the topic of conversation came around to how I used to tease my younger siblings when we were growing up. I am the third of seven children, and according to my family I took my responsibility as “devious older brother” very seriously. Of course, I have absolutely no recollection of any of the events I was accused of participating in, but to quote Bugs Bunny “Yeah, that sounds like something I would do.” Here is a sampling of some of my ALLEGED dirty deeds:

– As a sophomore in high school, I tried out for the JV basketball team. One night I came home from practice, and I was rather sweaty (I like to play hard). Apparently, I felt that was the opportune time to challenge my younger brother to a banana eating contest to see who could eat a banana the fastest. He agreed. We both got a banana, peeled them, and waited for my sister to say “Go.” When she did, he immediately stuffed his mouth full, and I then wrestled him to the ground and shoved his nose into my armpit.

– Another tale was told by my youngest brother. For some reason, he always had chapped lips growing up. His claim for unspecified damages against me is that I suggested he try dabbing a bit of Tobasco Sauce on his lips to help ease the pain.

– In the picture posted here you will see me on the left with an angelic smile on my face, and my little sister exhibiting the exact opposite. Her claim is that shortly before the picture was taken, I yanked on one of her pig tails.
The Point of Q
Yes, I may have been a little master mayhem growing up, and this brings me back to my son.

Like most boys who fall within the age range of 2 to 102 years old, he is well aware of the comedic value of flatulence. In fact, he even persuaded me to download an “App” for my iPhone that simulates those sounds with lifelike clarity. One of the cool features of my phone is that when I get in to my car, it automatically syncs up with the audio system. In fact, once synced, anything played on the phone will be broadcast loudly through the car’s speakers. My son knows this.

So yesterday, I took him to get some McDonalds after picking him up from school. He always wants to eat inside, but this time, he insisted that we go through the drive-thru. That should have been a clue, but I didn’t pick up on it. He also asked me if he could play a game on my phone while we drove to the restaurant. This was nothing out of the ordinary, so I readily agreed to his request. We got to the drive-thru menu, and I placed his usual order. When the employee read back the order over the PA system, she asked the usual question “Is the order correct?”, and that’s when my little genius hit the fart button. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and it was loud! Simply put, there was no recovery for me. He had fired a shot across my bow, and I was dead in the water. All I could say over the sound of his uncontrollable laughter was “Yes, the order is correct” as I dreaded pulling around to the window to pay. And despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t help but watch with pride as my son reveled in his glory exclaiming “Yes!!! I got you good!!!”

Yes, son. You got me good. You got me really, really, good. By the way, you wanna have a banana eating contest?

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