It reminds me of a time as kids, when one of my brothers stitched me up. Unless he was caught in the act of doing something wrong, I usually had his sanctions and punishments added to my own ‘in-tray’. One of those in particular still annoys me to this day, and the punishment for what he did wasn’t even that bad compared to what I had become accustomed to. It was the fact that it caused my favourite uncle to hold me in lower esteem….
I got home from school to be presented with a special soccer ball owned by my uncle that had been lacerated. I immediately blushed and unequivocally denied any part in it’s demise. I knew that my brother had been playing with it a week or so earlier, but I wasn’t a snitch. I knew that I’d get my usual serve of wallops in order to extract a confession, but even if she’d put a gun to my head I wouldn’t have been able to say that I had done it! Anyway, my weasel of a brother heard me enduring another inquisition and knew that he’d gotten away with it, and quietly slunk away. I went without pocket money for about 6 months, and got a hiding from my mum and Primate of a step-father….the loss of the shekels and the hiding were water off a duck’s back, it was the knowledge that my uncle thought that I’d done it that really cut me up. I couldn’t even look him in the eye out of shame. Shame for doing something that I hadn’t done! 