“You’re not the boss of me” she said with a defiant look on her face. She stomps her foot, puts her hands on her hips and leans over from the waist. “ I SAID… you’re NOT the boss of me so I can do what I want and YOU can’t stop me!” Such was the beginning of the incident which led to the worst beating of my life….
I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before but for the sake of Mama Kat’s and prompt #5.) Write a post where the first and last sentence contain any form of the word “boss.”, I’ll tell it again.
When I was about 12 or 13 years old for all intents and purposes the only kids left at home out of six were me and my little sister, whom I loved (and still do) dearly but who could be a royal pain in the arse at times. The last year or so that my older sister lived at home she may as well not have lived there because she pretty much was only there to sleep. That left me and dear little SuziCate who is 5 years younger than I.
Since there were no other kids left at home and our mom worked full time the brunt of the housework fell on me. The unwritten rule was that by the time our mom came home the house had better be clean, our list of chores done and dinner ready to put on the table. It was actually a written rule since every day our mom left us a list of chores to be done while she was at work. I guess she insured that we stayed out of trouble if we stayed busy? All I know is my older sister never did her work because she was always out partying with her friends and Baby Suzi was “the baby” so she never had to do any chores. My mom was of the belief that she didn’t care who did the chores as long as they got done and even though she assigned certain chores to each of us specifically I soon learned that even if I did all my chores, if all the chores on the list weren’t done, I still got a whoopin’. And believe me, you did NOT want a whoopin’!
I do remember that it was summer time. We didn’t have central air but it never seemed to get TOO hot in that big old house we lived in. But since it WAS a big old house there were always chores to do and it seemed like the list was always a mile long. I remember I was cleaning the kitchen, sweeping I believe, and I was listening to the radio. One of the few things I really got to enjoy since the only working television at the time was in our parent’s bedroom and since they went to bed with the chickens we didn’t get to watch a whole lot and when we did get to watch it was whatever they wanted to watch. But I digress…
I was sweeping the floor and listening to the radio and one of my favorite songs came on and I was dancing around the kitchen with the broom and singing along (probably more like wailing since I can’t carry a tune in a bucket to save my life) when in traipses my little sister chattering away and overtalking so that I couldn’t hear it and enjoy it. I asked her politely (well, maybe not) to PLEASE be quiet so that I could hear my song. That’s when she started in with her “You’re not the boss of me!”
I begged and pleaded and cajoled and threatened to kill her if she didn’t shut her big fat mouth and she kept it up…double time. Then she started with her annoying “I can talk all I want…talk talk talk….all I want… and you can’t stop me… talk TALK TALK TALK!” She wasn’t even making any sense any more but then when does a 7 or 8 year old hell bent on being annoying make any sense? Truth be known she probably just wanted attention or someone to play with her but I wanted to listen to my song and I didn’t have time to stop and play because I had lots more housework to finish before our mom got home.
I finally told her if she didn’t shut up I would shut her up. She asked me how and I grabbed her and laid her on the floor and sat on top of her holding her hands. I was probably too pissed at this point to think of the consequences because after all, I WAS the older sibling! I was sitting on her holding her hands because she was kicking and flailing with all her might. She was pretty strong for a little squirt! Anyway, I’m holding her down, probably being a jerk myself asking her ‘uh huh! Who’s the boss of you NOW? That’s right! ME… I am the boss and you can’t talk all you want.” At this point I was probably trying to cover her mouth with my hand to get her to shut up and she flailed and kicked and bucked like a championship bronco!
I was so busy trying to keep her quiet and still that I didn’t even notice what was coming. Our dad, who had been laying in bed reading, had heard the commotion. He did NOT like being disturbed when he was reading. And from his perspective I’m sure the way she was screaming he must have thought I was killing her. I know I wasn’t even hurting her, she was just trying to be a brat and get her way! But she was (and still IS) the baby and nothing better not hurt his baby!
As I was saying, I didn’t even know it was coming. The first inkling I had was the unbelievable sting across my upper back. WTH??? Did the roof cave in? What was that? Then again across the middle of my back. Then over and over and over across my back and butt and upper legs. By the time I tried to turn around and shield myself from the blows all I ended up with was more welts across my arms. He had jumped up and grabbed his leather belt and beat the tar out of me. That was one of only two times I can ever remember my father ever laying a hand on me.
Of course I ended up not finishing my chores (for which I got in even more trouble) and running to my room and throwing myself on my bed where I cried for hours and tried NOT to lay on my back. When my mom came home and I tried to pay the pity card and showed her the deep welts in my back, instead of sympathy she said “What did you do to deserve that?” Do what? I’m not saying they were bad parents… that’s just the way things were back then.
And I guess Suzi was right… I wasn’t the boss of her but since she was the baby and the baby always gets their way then I guess she proved to me that she was the boss!