You know, I haven't told you a good funny rockstar story in a while. This is an oldie, but goodie. Really old, actually.
I may have mentioned once or twice that I discovered at some point an innate sibling rivalry with my brother. As I have matured it has lessened, but that is something that took time. Oh so much time.
Whenever I describe my relationship that I have with my brother, I always refer to an incident that occurred when I was three and he was four. Katie was just a twinkle in my dad's eye. (Oh please not in my mom's as well, I can only imagine so much sexuality between my parents, urgh.)
We went as a family strawberry picking. Some farm somewhere on a dirt road. The parental units were happily(?) scoring some fruit while my brother and I played nicely on our own.
See, we had discovered some kind of drainage pipe that stuck up a bit above the dirt road. And what is plentiful on any dirt road? Rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.
So I started to throw rocks at the pipe. Fun stuff for kids. My brother decided to go behind the pipe and egg me on.
Not a good idea.
Here I am, playing fine on my own, and my brother has to edge in on my fun. He kept saying "Bigger rocks! Bigger rocks!".
This just pissed me off.
Very very clearly I remember at that point picking up the biggest rock I could heft (at three years old maybe not so big), aiming for my poor brother's noggin and.....
Making solid contact.
At this point the memory stops, probably because it involved lots of blood and an emergency room visit for poor Pete - including xrays.
Good times. Also good foreshadowing of my success in sports and his lack thereof. (Oops, sibling rivalry reared its head there, didn't it?)
Yet to this day when the story resurfaces he still insists that I was aiming for the pipe. Even after hearing me tell the story many times.
Do you see a pattern? Hmmmm.
The History Of Yoga
1 year ago