Don't Tell Anybody

Dear Readers:

Today I decided to expose three of my childhood secrets:

According to Mom, I was "painfully honest" as a child. But truth is a relative concept. I remember playing with my younger brother in the neighbor's barn. A large metal tank was sitting in the middle of the dirt floor with a faucet at one end. I turned on the spigot, tasting the nastiest water imaginable. I told my brother to try it, which he vigorously attended to, taking in several gulps. Then he started to have a nose bleed, and I think he vomited blood. We were scared and made a break for home. The secret is this: I tried to run faster than him to get to Mom first. I knew I'd be in serious trouble if he got there before me and told his version. My legs moved like egg beaters, and I huffed and puffed while trying to think of an alibi. I flew into the house announcing: "Something's wrong with Middle-Brother." I tried to look perplexed to cover my anguish. The perplexed part was to demonstrate my innocence. The anguished part was the guilty Catholic knowing he was going to Hell; I had poisoned my poor brother.

I never liked trouble, but somehow it always found me. That's the second secret. Like the time that snotty little punk-of-a-friend Freddie (with his stupid pet turtle, Bubbles) ratted on me for starting fires. I was minding my own business, trying to focus the sun's light through my magnifying glass. The dried leaf started to smoke and a hole began to form when what should appear on the horizon but Eddie and both of our moms. My mother had told Freddie's mom her son "would never" start fires. I guess she wasn't a good judge of character. At least in this instance, I didn't have to tell the truth. Since I was caught red-handed, truth-telling wasn't necessary.

My last secret is more personal. I can cross my eyes, one at a time, and without looking at the end of my nose. You heard me correctly. My habit has been a long standing one, and I've become quite famous for this phenomenon. It must be genetic, because my son and oldest daughter can do it too. When my son was four he announced, "I see two Daddies," and I knew our family was double crossed. My mother used to tell me, "Stop crossing your eyes or they'll get stuck." I'd get back at her by crossing them some more, and it usually worked. She couldn't look at me when I'd to the eye thing -- her face would cringe and she'd look away. Now that three of us possess this gift, we have the power to strike simultaneously.

Until later.