Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Revenge of the Babysat

"This is stupid, it isn't even dark outside yet," my brother Eric said as he caught the tennis ball that I'd tossed to him from my bed. He was on the top bunk, with our brother Bobby pouting down below.

I caught the return throw. "I know. Can she really send us to bed this early?"

We were being baby-sat by our 16 year-old neighbor, Nancy. In a fit of irrational, most likely hormonal rage, she'd banished us to our room without probable cause. We hadn't been fighting, weren't making excessive noise, nothing. Yet at the ridiculous hour of 8:00 pm, here we were. Our friends were still playing touch football in the street, for Chrissakes.

I tossed the ball back to Eric.The doorbell rang downstairs, and Nancy answered it. We heard unfamiliar voices, so we assumed that she had invited a couple of her friends over to our house. Bottles clanking, music playing, it sounded like they were getting a party started! Nancy was the Cat in the Hat, and Thing One and Thing Two had just showed up. Mom and Dad could not possibly have approved this. Teenage subterfuge, right here in our own living room. We had to do something.

If we'd been a few years older, we probably would've come up with a more diabolical plan. But at the ages of 11, 8, and 7, this is the best we could do:

I got my basketball from the closet and gave it to Eric, still on the top bunk. As I held the door to our room slightly ajar, he balanced the basketball top, resting it between the door and the frame.

The old "Booby Trap the Door" trick.

"How do we get her to come up here?" Bobby asked.

"Simple," I said. "You guys pretend you're fighting about something."

They played it to perfection.

"Get off me, you jerk!"

"That's mine! Give it back or I'll punch you again!"


"Quit crying, ya little baby!"

Jeez, isn't she coming yet?

"Quit it, you guys!" I yelled. "We're gonna get in trouble!"

"He's choking me, get him off!"

Finally, Nancy couldn't ignore us any longer. She stomped up the stairs. We heard her coming down the hall.

She was right outside the door.

"What the hell are you guys do-"


Holy crap, it worked to perfection. The ball conked her on top of her dome, knocking her glasses askew. Her face contorted in pissed off, Kathy-Bates-as-Annie-Wilkes-like rage.

And then Bobby doused her with the glass of water.

Nancy was ill-prepared for our pre-pubescent wiles. The combination of mild pain, crooked glasses, and freshly-soaked zitface left her momentarily speechless. Without comment, she stormed out of our room and went back downstairs.

That's what you get, you skanky wench! Send us to bed early? Have a party in our house? We think NOT. Victory was ours.

Temporarily. For two hours, to be precise.

At around ten o'clock, after Nancy had sent Thing One and Thing Two home, our parents returned. We heard angry-sounding murmurs from downstairs. The snitch was ratting us out. A whuppin' was coming our way, no doubt about it.

Bobby scurried over to the toy box and found my kneepads. He slipped them into the butt of his pajama pants, makeshift protection against the spanking-yet-to-come.

Let's pause here for a second so I can clarify something. Our parents never "beat" us, per se. We did, however, earn the occasional smack, thump, swat, spank, or backhand across the ass. Every once in a while, our mom would even find one of our Hot Wheels tracks to do the deed. Let me tell you, there's nothing worse than getting walloped with your own toys.

So anyway, we braced for the incoming wrath o' Dad. He pushed the door open.

"Nancy told us what you guys did. That is not acceptable." He didn't raise his voice at all. Somehow, that made it worse.

"But Dad! She was-"

"I don't want to hear it. She was very upset, and you broke her glasses. And who hit her with the water?"

Bobby giggled from under his blankets.

"Well, let's get this over with," said Dad. I was first up on Your Hit Parade.


Dad had a rule. We got spanked until we cried. Two swats, and I was blubbering like a colicky infant.

He walked across the room. Eric fired off a pre-emptive cry of anticipation, but it didn't help. Dad had apparently decided upon a two-swat minimum.


And then came Bobby's turn.


Bobby tried to stifle a chuckle.


"What's in your pants?" Dad asked.

Bobby was laughing uncontrollably now. Clearly, he lacked foresight.

Dad grabbed the back of Bobby's pajama bottoms, giving him a sort of "mini-wedgie". He reached in, grabbed the kneepads, and flung them into the corner.


Bobby cried.

Dad walked out, turned off our light as he went, and left us alone with our diminishing sobs and whimpers. Eventually, all was quiet on the bedroom front.

"You guys okay?" I asked.


"Uh huh."

"That was kinda worth it, though, right?"

"Did you see how her glasses were all crooked after she got hit with the ball?"

We laughed till we fell asleep.


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Debbie(single;complicated) said...

ha ha ha!!! So like kids.. so worth it!!:) I will tell you , on your behalf, I wanted your dad to listen and hear what she did...:)!!

Moooooog35 said...

The kneepads thing is genius.


I wish they'd been invented when I was a kid.

My ass is still sore.

Suldog said...

Thing One and Thing Two. Magnificent.

One of the few disadvantages of being an only child is that I had no backup when I was babysat. My only weapon, therefore, was The Interminable Wail. I could cry and scream with the best of them, and that usually wore down Debbie (the girl from across the street, whom I wish I could see again and apologize for the no-doubt permanent damage I inflicted on her hearing.)

corfubob said...

I bet you lot had calloused bots well into adulthood. Didn't ruin your sense of humour. Not much anyway. Only joking - I really enjoy your stuff. Go well.

Chris said...

Oh my God, the Hot Wheels track...being an only child, and a girl, I missed out on that, but my husband (who has a younger brother) used to beat said brother regularly with their Hot Wheels tracks.......

Heff said...

Ah, the good old days...when a quality old fashioned ass-whuuppin' was commonplace......

Peter Varvel said...

I love revenge stories! I truly hope you three had thought it was worth the whuppin's.
Nancy is Not a Nice Person (and I'd guess she ain't a very happy lady, even today).

Anonymous said...


You really were wicked little monkeys weren't you?

Michelle Faith said...

Hey I think I babysat you!
I get the wooden spoon out for my boys...the one with the hole in it so it stings more.
Only had to use it once tho.
You crack me up!

Eva Gallant said...


Shawn said...

LOL @ being beaten with your own toys. That really is the highest form of punishment.

ReformingGeek said...

I could never understand why my friends WANTED to babysit.

Me? Um, no.

00dozo said...

My grandfather used to do most of the baby sitting for me, my sister and my cousins. We'd never get a whoopin' because he was a big man with a big leather belt: all he had to do was grab the belt buckle with his hands and we'd scatter like cockroaches.

Fun story!

P.S. Happy Memorial Day weekend. Enjoy!

Andy said...

Dad had the same rule about spankings. We learned to fake it - he could tell the difference.

We were never so bad to our babysitters as we were to our grandma when she watched us. Poor lady. We've all talked about it, and to a man we feel awful for the torture we put her through.

otin said...

There is no one better in all of blogland than you when it comes to telling a story from your childhood. There is such familiarity when I read these. It brings me right back to 1975 or so!

Candy's daily Dandy said...

Bitch got paid too...

screwdestiny said...

LOL! You guys didn't even bother to tell them about the party she was having? Come on now...

And I see nothing wrong with spankings. Parents who say they should never ever hit a kid for any reason nowadays are stupid. Nothing teaches better than pain, and the kid often deserves it. Spanking a kid's butt a few times is not abuse.

sewa mobil said...

I could never understand why my friends WANTED to babysit.

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