Chow-dair! [/frenchie]

I went to visit a childhood friend in Sweden, he lived near Sollentuna just outside Stockholm. His house looked out on what seemed like endless forest. We got drunk one night unable to hold down some whiskey, went out wandering the fields smoking cigarettes and chanced upon a bridge in a open plain, it was twilight, we lay down on the bridge rails, watching over a star filled sky beaming at us, you could clearly make out the milky way. We tried trace out satellites fly overhead. We saw a light dance in the sky wavering and wished it was a UFO.

This may not be a story of childhood 'bliss' but it will definitely stick with me forever. Here's why:

I was about 5 or 6, and was thirsty one day. So I went into the kitchen where my mom was making dinner and decided to get something to drink. Looking in the fridge, I spied Donald Duck orange juice, Mt. Dew and chocolate milk. All of these things I liked. So it suddenly occurred to me that if I liked them all separately, then they have to taste good together! So I mixed up a giant glass of orange juice, chocolate milk and Mt. Dew. After one sip, I wanted to barf. But my mom, having watched me out of the corner of her eye, decided to teach me a lesson for mixing up such a big glass and wasting so much, and told me if I didn't finish it, I'd get a spanking. I got another 3-4 sips of the poison down before running screaming from the room, making all sorts of choking noises. I can STILL recall that taste today. So I guess the real bliss was the fact that I didn't have to finish it off...and never got a spanking.

Oh, and *quality!

Awarding thinker247 with one star point for this contribution to VideoSift - declared quality by videosiftbannedme.

When I was in grade 9, we had a 'go to work with your parents day'. My mother ran a business, but my father was a Member of Parliament, 2000 kilometers away. I asked him if I could come to work with him the following week, and he said "sure, son".

We traveled to Ottawa, went to work on Parliament Hill, got a round of applause during Question period when my father mentioned I was there, and flew back home the next day.

That was awesome.

When I was in kindergarten I got sent out into the hall for shooting crayons at a classmate. The place where the teacher made me stand was right beneath the fire alarm. Now mind you I was in kindergarten, so I had very little reading skills at the time, so I didn't understands the words on the handle. Anyway, I figured it be some sort of handle that was just begging to be pulled, so I did so. Then all hell brook loose.

Everyone in the school had to be evacuated because of little old me. The fire department came out, and rapidly determined that it was my little hand behind the whole fiasco. I subsequently got spanked by a mean old nun (I went to Catholic school), and then got sent to the principal's office. The principal made me call home, and I was crying so bad that my mom could barely understand me. Anyway, she picked me up, with both of us fearing what my father would do after he found out.

Instead of getting a spanking or a slap from him, he just gave a stern look of disapproval, followed by rolling his eyes. That hurt worst than any spanking to me. I may have just been 5, but I could tell what a look of disappointment on my parents' faces was. And that is something I'll never forget.

One time as children, kronosposeidon, blankfist, and dystopianfuturetoday went looking for the missing body of a local teenager found by gang of older boys. On our adventure we dodged a train and something about a junkyard happened. Also Kiefer Sutherland was an asshole to us.

Also, blankfist got a leech on his wiener, kronos was the fat kid, dystopianfuturetoday OD'd but has a hairlipped brother and I was Corey Feldman and wound up doing lots of cocaine later in life.

It might have been the 5th grade and we had a real shitty Math teacher at the time. It's not that she really sucked at Math (she did), it's that she was just this terrible terrible human being (more on that in a sec); she was also our class supervisor, which meant she headed all extra-curricular activities, museum trips, etc.

One of her most screwed-up and unprofessional favorite things to do in class was to wait for a hapless kid to make a mistake while solving a problem on the chalkboard. She anticipated these moments like a fucking alligator in the Amazon jungle. Every kid dreaded having to go up to the front. Whenever an unfortunate youngling made a mistake, be it just an "+" instead of a "-" in an equation, she'd stand up, and say to the class "Johnny made a mistake, class. Let's all point a finger at him, laugh and say Mistake, mistake!" - I fucking kid you not. And everybody had to do it. It's like she could only get off on little kids being humiliated.

Now, I wasn't a prodigy, but I was pretty damn smart. Especially at Math. In fact, I was already better at it than she was. I was also pretty much a poster child - almost never caused any trouble, didn't cuss, etc. As a result, there was little reason for her to have me up there after the first couple of times of going to the chalkboard and solving problems in a minute without any mistakes. Naturally, this made some of the other kids jealous of me, but that's not the point.

So one day she has me do it anyway. I get up there, start copying the equation from the textbook, and bam! I write down the wrong number. I realize my mistake after some 10 seconds and rush to the sponge to erase the incorrect integer and as soon as I start doing that, the bitch notices. Fuck.
She stands up. Takes two steps towards me. She says her infamous line to the class, some of whom are eager that the poster boy will be the recipient. They start: Mis...
Me (shouting, completely spontaneous): FUCK YOU ALL, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Nobody said a word. Hell, I was as shocked as anyone. I finished solving the problem and went back to my seat. I was never sent to the principal's office.

She never did that shit again.

I was terrible at sports as a kid. I especially sucked at throwing things. At my school, there was one day a year a sports event, where every kid went from post to post and tried to do their best at different activities. If you did well enough on it all, you got a diploma. The demands weren't very high, so I managed nearly all of them, even throwing a small ball. But the one thing I couldn't manage was throwing a big ball. I couldn't figure out how you were supposed to hold this unwieldy object to get it as far as possible. I tried and tried, but never got it past the required line. Dejected I went home without a diploma.

But the next day after school, our teacher took those of us without a diploma down to the sports field and gave us another chance at reaching the goals. Without the rest of the school there to watch, and with much encouragement from the teacher, I finally managed to throw the ball just over the required line, and I got the diploma. I was very proud of my achievement, which was purely a personal victory.

I was in second grade. My friend Sonia and I were on the bus heading to school. She and I were drawing a stick figure family in the condensation on the window. When we pulled up to the school, I erased it with my sleeve. The bus driver saw me wiping something off the window and starts screaming at me how I was writing swear words. Sonia and I looked at each other, confused. I said, "We were just drawing stick figures."

I shouldn't have said anything because the bus driver started frothing at the mouth, literally. She got spittle all over my face when she told me to get my butt to the principal right now. She wrenched my arm and dragged me off the bus. My feet didn't even touch the steps down.

Debbie Versch was the assistant principal and when she heard I was accused of writing swear words on a bus window, she called my father. Didn't even ask me if it was true. Didn't even consult Sonia. She just immediately called my father and asked if she could paddle me. He said yes.

So she tries to get me to turn around and place my hands on the arm of a chair. I flat out told her no. I didn't do anything wrong. She says how can I prove that. I say prove that I did it! She started getting red in the face. How dare a second grader talk to her like that, I guess..

She grabs me by the arm. The arm the bus driver grabbed. I would find bruises all over my upper arm at home. She starts paddling the crap out of my upper legs. I am now furious, at this point. I turn around in a rage and grab the paddle out of her hands. I throw it in her waste basket so hard it spills over. I turn to her and say, "FUCK YOU. I didn't do any FUCKING THING WRONG." I kick her in the shin and I run out the door, out the front of the school and, because I only lived two streets away--which makes me wonder why I had to ride a bus to school anyway--I run home.

Now, the best part of this story happens years later. My mother and I do a lot of volunteer work with Rotary. Debbie Versch and my mother and I happened to be on the same committee for planning events with a local guardian's home for children. Debbie remembers me and studiously avoids me. After a few weeks of this, I go up to her. "You know, I never did write any swear words on that bus window. You paddled me for no reason. Funny how you claim to care so much about children when you were so eager to beat them." She at least had the courtesy to blush and mumble a mostly incoherent apology. Lame revenge, some would say, but it sure made me feel better about it.

When I was about 3 or 4 I climbed up on to the gate in our backyard. I proceeded to swing back and forth on it having a fantastic time. wheeee! But when I was ready to stop I looked down and it was scary! I was only about half a foot off the ground but to me that was waaaay too far to jump. The only thing I could do was hang on for dear life and scream my face off. "Mommy, mommy! Help! Help! I'm stuck!"

Now, apparently when I was this age I was always crying wolf, trying to get my parents to come see something or other. On this particular day my Mum decided to ignore me, since I was never in any real emergency, and teach me a thing or two. So there I was screaming bloody murder for a looooong time. It might have been only 15 minutes but when you're 4 years old that's like 1/4 of your entire life.

Eventually my Mum looked out and saw me hanging on to that gate and came and rescued me. She felt bad about not coming out earlier. mwahaha

Also, once when I was on vacation in Colorado Springs (I was probably 9 years old) my dad bought me this novelty toy: Rattlesnake Eggs. It's basically an envelope, filled with a bit of rice, and there is a device that you wind up with rubber bands. If you squeeze the envelope just a bit the device lets loose, spins around, and it makes it sound like there's a rattlesnake in the envelope.

So here I was carrying this toy around with me everywhere. I even rehearsed a whole little speech to go along with it if I ever found a victim. Adults of course gave a little chuckle when they heard it but it was different for kids apparently.

One of these days I was playing in this field by the campground and I met another little boy. I immediately went into my act.

"Hey there! How's it going?"

"Good..."

"Look what I have here. Rattlesnake eggs! I keep them in the fridge usually, so they don't hatch. Today though I took them out and they're getting kind of warm. They might even hatch any minute now!"

At this I triggered the toy which caused the boy to sprint all the way across the field as fast as his little legs would take him. I was told afterwards that my whole family watched the whole exchange and took great delight in watching the other kid run like that. Later I met that boy again and we actually became friends and adventured around the campgrounds and stuff.

I remember being 6 or 7 yrs old and arguing vehemently w/ my dad that "one & a half" meant one IN a half, thus one was really saying "one half", sure that I was right. I was a pompous, prideful child.

>> ^Fusionaut:
Also, once when I was on vacation in Colorado Springs (I was probably 9 years old) my dad bought me this novelty toy: Rattlesnake Eggs. It's basically an envelope, filled with a bit of rice, and there is a device that you wind up with rubber bands. If you squeeze the envelope just a bit the device lets loose, spins around, and it makes it sound like there's a rattlesnake in the envelope.
So here I was carrying this toy around with me everywhere. I even rehearsed a whole little speech to go along with it if I ever found a victim. Adults of course gave a little chuckle when they heard it but it was different for kids apparently.
One of these days I was playing in this field by the campground and I met another little boy. I immediately went into my act.
"Hey there! How's it going?"
"Good..."
"Look what I have here. Rattlesnake eggs! I keep them in the fridge usually, so they don't hatch. Today though I took them out and they're getting kind of warm. They might even hatch any minute now!"
At this I triggered the toy which caused the boy to sprint all the way across the field as fast as his little legs would take him. I was told afterwards that my whole family watched the whole exchange and took great delight in watching the other kid run like that. Later I met that boy again and we actually became friends and adventured around the campgrounds and stuff.


That sounds like a Calvin & Hobbes story. hehehehe

When I was maybe 6 or 7, I figured out or finally decided to myself that there wasn't a Santa Claus. So that same Christmas, at a big family gathering, one of my grams asks me what Santa Claus brought me for Christmas. I reply matter-of-factly that I don't believe in Santa Claus.

!!!!

Gramma calls a posse of aunts and uncles, and they spend the next half hour in giving me a brainwashing session. Each and every one insisting that there is indeed a Santa Claus. (Adults have no shame) At the end, I was pretty confused, but convinced they were right; I mean, who expects his whole family to lie through their teeth about something so important?

It took me a year or two to shake off this re-education.

Well I had trouble trying to think of a happy child hood story but here is one. When I was little I decided I was going to run away from home. So I took an old ford tractor that we had to use for chores (watering pigs) and started my ultra slow gettaway. The water container bounced off because of the bumpy prairie and by the time my grandpa and uncle found me it was a few miles behind. I then was crying because I knew what was coming. Well it was bliss while it lasted...

Jesus Christ, man! How about a fucking spoiler alert?

>> ^longde:
When I was maybe 6 or 7, I figured out or finally decided to myself that there wasn't a Santa Claus. So that same Christmas, at a big family gathering, one of my grams asks me what Santa Claus brought me for Christmas. I reply matter-of-factly that I don't believe in Santa Claus.
!!!!
Gramma calls a posse of aunts and uncles, and they spend the next half hour in giving me a brainwashing session. Each and every one insisting that there is indeed a Santa Claus. (Adults have no shame) At the end, I was pretty confused, but convinced they were right; I mean, who expects his whole family to lie through their teeth about something so important?
It took me a year or two to shake off this re-education.

When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now. The child is grown, the dream is gone.

We lived near a creek and one summer two friends and I decided to build a tree fort. We scoured the local area for wood and nails and one of the friends 'borrowed' a hammer from his father's garage. It was coming along pretty well till we ran out of wood, so we once again went on the search. Well we found someone else's tree house along the creek and decide to put our pirate patches on and liberate their wooden planks for our own useage.

Well the day grew late and... WAIT, SANTA CLAUSE ISN'T REAL?!?!!


-edit-

Bare with me as its' difficult to type throug the tears...

Alright so... teh day grew
.
.
.
.

Ican't do this

-edit-


Alright so... the day grew late and we decided to put our little project on hold. Next day comes and I climb up onto the tree fort to nail some more planks to the branches when suddenly the planks that where there shift apart and I go careening down and -literally- land in a bucket of nails. Like, my ass lands directly onto the bucket. Luckily it wasn't filled to the top and I pretty much just bounced off the rim of the bucket and was perfectly fine.. but it was rather comical.

Apparently someone.. perhaps some kids from a recently desecrated tree house, had come over and pulled all the nails out of our own project.


Two years later I'm walking home from Jr. High with this one metal head kid who I only kind of knew but lived near me. We're talking and I tell him this very story. He suddenly throws down his pack and proclaims that was HIS fort we took the supplies from, and we end up in a brief but rather physical fight.

Don't steal other people's resources!!

Okay, so I'm ending this shindig and handing out the awards.

Gold: EDD, who gets three promotes for his story, because it involved math and striking back at authority (two of my favorite hobbies).

Silver: UsesProzac, for her courageous battle with the supreme darkness that is education mistresses with short tempers and low IQs.

Bronze: Ornthoron, because I just can't bear to leave him without a medal.

Fourth: videosiftbannedme, because I also did the same thing with orange juice and Diet Pepsi. Luckily I didn't have a mammy who forced me to drink it all. Cheers!

Fifth: Throbbin, because that was the perfect "feel-good" story I was looking for.

And last, but not least, we have Fusionaut for his gate story. Thanks for hanging in there.

Honorable mention: Rasch, who quoted my favorite song, but forgot that Crowns get nothing from me!

And longde, millions of children around the world are out back, ready to kick your ass.

Thanks everyone! See you next time I have eight promotes!

I used to play doctor with the two neighbor girls in my apartment complex. I was about 7-8? Across the hall was Becky, a rather shy Mexican girl who told her mom what we were up to, which abruptly put an end to our make-believe injections. Below us, lived a feisty redhead named Kim, who taught me the word 'fuck'. We used to swipe her mom's Playboys, get naked in the closet and imitate the poses of couples we saw in a comic strip.