two generations of sibling misunderstandings
My mum hit her brother over the head with a brown paper bag full of tiles during a heated debate, and split his head open. She didn't know they were tiles.

He got her back later that year when she sat on an ant-hill and was covered in the irritating little bastards. Then her little brother ran to the rescue, hitting her with sticks to remove the ants, as she ran screaming all the way home.

Together the two of them pulled the feathers off the bottom of my grandmother's ballroom dancing frock. Once they drank a bottle of advocat that was in the bottom of the same wardrobe as the dress. My mum opened the bottle, my uncle finished it off and left it empty on its side. When it was discovered they both blamed eachother, my grandmother to this day does not know who drank it, despite the fact that my uncle bought her a bottle of advocat for Christmas. The theft took place about forty years ago now, and my old, blind grandmother asked me if I had had the drink last year, believing me to be my mother.

I blew out the candle on my brother's first birthday cake. He still doesn't believe that I was trying to help. I was two.

I told John (kid brother) there was no such thing as Santa when he was three and a half. I was a rather matter-of-fact five-year-old and didn't think he should be lied to on such an important matter.

He still tells people I am a horrible person. I was really trying to help :(

When he was four John suffered injury at the hands of our friend, the girl next door. She was about eight at the time. We had been playing and Rachael had picked my brother up by the ankles and spun him around, before falling over and smacking him face-first into a wall.

I was very small for my age (I had been very ill, but recovered after three years of not being able to process food - won't go into detail unless a QOTW about poo comes up.) When Mum took the wee fella to the A&E we were nearly taken into care. The doctors and nurses and social workers asked us questions about our daddy and our mummy and if they ever got cross, and what we had had for dinner that day, completely ignoring our horrified mother.

She explained that we had been playing with the little girl next door, but they didn't believe her.

Until John interjected with some feeling,
"She (TGND) is not a little girl, she is a big, clumsy, silly girl and she smells! My face hurts, can I have an ice lolly now please?"

I won't forget his little face, surrounded by slightly muddy blond bowl-cut hair, covered in grass stains and heavilly bruised, frowning because they hadn't given him the ice lolly they had promised to ease the swelling. He had no idea.
(herefromthere, Sat 27 Dec 2008, 4:47, Reply)