The Tickle Game

Working on a project for my brother with old photos. (Don't ask my why I get myself into these things - I'm just stupid I guess...) Scanning the pictures in and fighting the memories as they flood in...

My father had this game he'd play with us when we were kids, my brother and I. My brother seemed to like it. I HATED it. We'd be walking by and he'd reach out and grab us to tickle us. Sounds harmless enough.

But it went beyond what's okay. He wouldn't let up. Wouldn't let go. When it ceased to be fun and the laughter turned to tears, he'd still be laughing and wouldn't quit. I remember getting REALLY mad and screaming at him, "Don't!" "Stop!" And he thought it was funny. He'd say, "Don't stop? Okay!" And keep it up. When he finally did let go, I'd be steaming mad and have to run away somewhere to hide and cool down. Some game.

I'm so angry at him. I can't understand why being cruel to someone else is funny. One time he threw a wet towel on me while we were splashing at a lake. Everyone thought it was a riot. But the towel was wet and heavy and I was little and I remember being underneath it, it so heavy over top, and I couldn't get up. He held me under long enough for me to think I was going to die. And then it was over and I was free and everyone thought that was so funny. Oh man, I was mad. Found a picture of that today. Somebody actually took a picture of that. I could spit just thinking about it.

Why is it funny when someone else suffers? Why was my anger brushed away? I see his face in those pictures and I could scream. It's not fair. Why didn't I get to be a person too? Why did it hurt me so much and nobody else even noticed?

I'll get to the thankful stuff later. I've got to go cry this out and walk it off...