Torture Recall. It Helps.

Six years separate my brother Brett and I.

Now that we're both adults, so do about twelve inches of height and I'm bitter.



Whenever I start to pine for that lost foot of height - which occurs, without fail, every time I try on a pair of pants in the kiddie section of any store - I make myself feel better by remembering one of the many times my father showed Brett no mercy.

My dad's a funny dude.

I've already written about the funny-man torture I've endured at his hands HERE.

But this post is about Brett's torture.

Not mine.

One of my favorite memories dates back to the mid 1980s.

Brett was four or five years old.

The Air Force had just relocated us to Osan, Korea, and we were out for a walk, trying to familiarize ourselves with the base.

As we meandered down the sidewalk, my father spontaneously picked a dandelion that waved at us from in between the cement cracks.



He tore off a piece of the green stem and turned to my brother.

He said,

"Brett, take this stem and hide it anywhere on your body. Anywhere. I'm going to keep the top, fuzzy part of the dandelion. I'm keeping it because it's magic. It's like a wand and I'll need it to find out where you've hidden the stem."

Brett's eyes lit up.

"Okay, dad. You turn around and close your eyes. DON'T CHEAT!"

My father, with a look of complete seriousness and concentration, turned away from my brother.

My mother and I watched as my brother scrunched his eyebrows, scratched his blond head, licked his lips and debated for what seemed like twenty minutes about where to hide the stem.

He put it in his pocket.

Then decided that was too obvious.

He saw us watching him.

He put a finger to his lips and shushed us.

He tried to put it in his ear.

It fell out.

He put it under his armpit.

It wouldn't stay.

Then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, he bent over, undid the Velcro strap on his little blue shoe, and stuck the stem on the Velcro.

He slapped the strap back over and yelled, "I'm ready!"

He was so proud of himself.

So proud.

In retrospect, it reminds me of that moment in the horror flick, Carrie.

You know the one.

She's so proud of herself, up on that stage, about to be crowned homecoming queen. Her eyes are sparkling, she feels like she's finally found her place among the popular kids.

And then they dump a bucket full of pig blood all over her.

This was Brett's "Carrie" moment.

He just KNEW he had my dad.

My mom and I thought he did too.

My dad turned around slowly and stepped closer to my brother.

The grin on Brett's face was nothing short of a full-on gloat.

With extreme precision, my father took the "magic" fuzzy part of the dandelion and started moving it up and down Brett's body.

He made this high-pitched "boop, boop, boop" noise, pausing in certain spots - Brett's pockets, stomach and hands.

More gloating from the kid.

My dad circled Brett's head.

"Boop, Boop, BOOPBOOPBOOPBOOP!"

The booping got loudest right around my brother's mouth.

"Open up Brett, my magic wand is telling me that the stem might be in your mouth. I need to check it out."

With a smug look, Brett opened his mouth.

He knew the stem wasn't in there.

Apparently, so did my dad.

He shoved the fuzzy dandelion in my brother's mouth and then fell to the ground laughing.

He was joined shortly by my mother and I.

Brett wasn't quite as amused.

He was too busy crying and trying to wipe the magic, white, fuzzy dandelion seeds off of his tongue.

Good times, kids.

Good times.

You see why recalling memories like this one helps me cope with having short, stubby legs....