That’s a crazy title for a post, right? But it’s true, it really happened. I was four years old and my sister Pam was was about 18 months old. It took place during the two-year period we lived in Kansas City, Missouri — before we moved back home to Anacoco, Louisiana to live on my grandfather Brown’s farm.
Pam and I were playing in the back yard of our home in Kansas City. I was playing with a bow and rubber tipped arrow’s set, which was a very popular toy for boy’s in early 1950’s. The rubber tips looked like a plumbers plunger on the end, designed to stick to a slick surface like glass or paneling if you were close enough to the object when you shot the arrow.
While playing around shooting arrows towards the sky for a bit, I got bored and decided to make things more exciting by shooting a live target. There were no animals around, so I guess I thought, “Why not shoot Pam?” Not revealing what I was up to, I asked her to stand straight against a power pole in the back yard and gave her the following instructions: “Stand up straight against the pole, close your eyes and open your mouth, I have a surprise for you.” As soon as Pam closed her eyes I took the rubber tip off an arrow and shot it into her poor little open mouth from point blank range.
Horror of all horrors, the arrow punctured the soft pallet in the rear of her month and lodged in the back of her mouth. She was screaming bloody murder and crying hysterically. Blood was going everywhere. Mom came rushing out to the back yard and was horrified. She jerked out the arrow, swooped up Pam and went running into the house, screaming back at me — “You’re going to get you butt tore up Craig! What were you thinking?”
Mom worked profusely to stop the bleeding with a wet cloth but was making no progress. She called the doctor’s office, explained what happened and told them we were on the way. In between everything she was yelling at me over and over telling me that this would be the biggest butt-whipping of my life, and that it would be delivered by my Dad.
Mom yelled for me to get in the back seat of the car, while Pam rode up front with Mom. Pam cried the entire way. Mom reached over often and wiped blood from her mouth and chin with a dishcloth she had grabbed. The more Pam cried the more nervous Mom became and the louder the threats of punishment to me escalated. I was crying because I couldn’t believe I was the cause of this nightmare and because I could easily imagine how painful my Dad’s spanking was going to be.
When we got to the doctor’s office we had to climb a long flight of stairs. As we entered the long narrow reception area I noted there was no one in the waiting room. To this day I don’t know why there was no one else there but the doctor and his nurse. Looking back I often wonder if it was the doctor’s day off and he had to come into the office to treat my sister, but regardless, the waiting room was empty. It mainly made an impression on me because I was dreading being embarrassed by patients staring at me like I was a child killer.
As we entered the waiting room, which was filled with at least 12 to 15 empty hard-backed wooden chairs on each side of the long narrow room, Mom points to the first chair to the right, only 3 or 4 feet from the entry door, and says, “You sit right there buddy, and don’t you dare move a muscle! Your father had to leave work because of what you’ve done and he’s on his way over here. He’s not going to be happy with you Mister, and when we get home he’s going to tear your butt up.”
Pam was still crying. The doctor and nurse were at the other end of the room motioning Mom to bring Pam on back for examination and treatment. The four of them disappeared though the doorway of the closed examination room. There I sat, 4 years old, guilty of assaulting my sister with a toy bow and arrow, petrified, scared to death, all the energy zapped out of my body, whimpering, fretting, worried to a frazzle. Suddenly I hear footsteps running up the stairway, the door flies open, it’s Dad dressed in a business suit, it points back at me as he rushes through the waiting room, shouting back, “Just you wait buddy, I’m going to tear your butt up for hurting your sister.”
The wailing and crying continued through the walls of the treatment room. Pam was screaming at the top of her lungs. I was alone, not having any clue of why it was taking so long and why Pam was still crying in pain. Little did I know that the puncture wound was greater than I could have imagined. The doctor was having to stitch up the wound while the nurse held her down.
By the time that everyone came out of the treatment room, Pam appeared partially sedated and had calmed down. Mom and Dad were consoling her so much that they were no longer threatening to kill me when we got home. But I was soaking wet with perspiration and the long wait for Pam to feel better and stop crying.
The doctor claimed it took 9 stitches to sew up the wound, and that most of them were in the roof of Pam’s mouth. He made matters worse for me on our way out by telling Mom and Dad that “the roof of the mouth is hard, and one of the most painful parts of the body to put stitches in.” “Great!” I thought to myself. “We will be coming back here soon to sew up the cuts that Daddy’s belt will leave on my butt! Then we can talk about the most painful part of the body to stitch.”
Memories of arriving home and what took place afterwards faded away long ago. I honestly don’t think I ever got the spanking that was promised me by both Mom and Dad. Because I’m fairly certain that if I had been punished, the spanking would be permanently etched in my mind. To this day I don’t know why I did what I did, because I truly loved my little sister. But this was not the last of unexplainable stupid tricks, pranks and blunders I made in my youth, and unfortunately for Pam, it was not the last one that involved her.