Read the finalists’ stories and vote for the winner! You may vote once per day. Voting closes at 11:59 EST Saturday, October 11th.

The Finalists:

Oh, Christmas Tree! Oh, Christmas Tree!

Torture Always Worked For Me! 

The Youngest Sibling

I had two older sisters and two older brothers. Being the youngest of 5 children, I often felt like I was picked on a little more than my siblings. And though there were some significant age gaps, I somehow always managed to be the one to receive the brunt of unwanted attention.

The year was 1956. My brother and I had ridden the tractor from the farm to the service station.

The Tractor

I had just gotten off the tractor and was waving to my friend Beth who was standing inside the store, when my brother started backing up. Suddenly the tractor tire hit me and knocked me to the ground. Then he proceeded to run right over me. It hurt like the Dickens! At least I’m assuming so, I don’t really remember much after hitting the ground so hard.  At some point my brother did stop the tractor, jumped off and ran to where I was. He looked down at me, and through my tears I swear I saw a smile across his face. Same brother ran over my other brother with a bicycle, so maybe it wasn’t just me.

Both brothers convinced me to stick my finger in a lawnmower. They had sticks. I didn’t have sticks. They made it seem like it’d be fine to put my finger into the blades instead of a stick. Well, they didn’t exactly force me into it, but they certainly didn’t stop me. Lost the tip of my finger on that one.

Both brothers also threw basketballs at my head on a regular basis. If you ask my daughters, they’ll tell you there was definitely some permanent damage done there.

But despite all of those traumatic experiences, I love my brothers, and my sisters, too. Without them I may have grown up without one scar instead of the many I wear daily, but what fun is that? Now I have permanent reminders of how loved I was in return.

When I was a kid, I shared a room with my baby brother. It drove me nuts. He was always in my way. His stuff was everywhere. And he was so annoying. I know he did a lot of it on purpose. He was little, but he wasn’t that little.

He would leave chewed gum on the floor which would then stick to my toys. He actually broke a lot of my toys. When my buddies came over, he wouldn’t leave us alone.

Don’t get me wrong, he had his moments. He was definitely useful. I could get him to do my bidding. I could easily throw him under the bus when I got into trouble, too. The best thing about having a younger sibling, though? I could mess with him and that’s how I got him back for all the stupid things he’d do.

Sometimes when he slept at night I’d tie his wrist to the blinds and throw his arm around for fun. I’d put his hand in warm water and laughed when he’d wet the bed. I put peanut butter in his hair. I’d hide his favorite blanket before bed. I’d hold him under water – maybe a bit too long. I’d trip him when he’d walk by. I may have pushed him down the stairs. Maybe one time I placed a pillow over his face – but just to scare him a little. Torturing my younger brother just felt awesome, really. No matter what I did, I was bigger and smarter and he was no match for me.

Now that we are older, we are pretty close. I don’t think we would be as close if it wasn’t for all of the bruises, scrapes, and terrible things we did to each other – or mostly what I did to him. Because of that, our sibling rivalry is definitely a no take back.

I am the youngest of a long line of mischievous  children. I was always more on the quiet and shy side, so I’m sure you can imagine the relentless jokes/pranks/torture I had to endure as a child with my older siblings being the crazy ones. Let’s just say I was picked on…a lot. I still am to be honest.

My siblings are also very chatty folks. I was never able to get a word in, especially at the dinner table. I like to say I was stifled. So much in fact, that after reciting the Gettysburg Address in high school, my teacher (who had all of my siblings pass through her class), told me that was the most she had ever heard me say. She also added that knowing my siblings, I probably never got the opportunity to talk much at home. She was right.

So anyway, I was more sensitive, certainly more quiet, and definitely not as naughty as my older siblings. I was one of their favorite victims. So needless to say, when it was just me at home, I finally started to break out of my shell. I missed them, but it was kind of nice to not be picked on as much, or so I thought. Little did I know they would still orchestrate pranks when they were away from home, which brings me to Christmas 1998.

Christmas tree hunting has always been a great tradition in my family.

The hunt for the perfect tree…

Fake trees were out of the question. We had to go to a Christmas tree farm, pick out the perfect tree, and have the patriarch of the family cut it down and tie it to the good ‘ole station wagon. All of us kids would pick out what we considered to be the perfect tree and stand by it. We would of course argue over which tree was best as our father would just try to pick the closest one to the wagon so we could get it cut and be on our way.

For years and years my tree was never picked. Finally, in 1998, it was my turn. Everyone else was either in college or already out of college. This was my year. Who else was there to pick out a tree. So off we went to the tree farm. I found a tree and called my parents over.

“Nah, there’s a hole.” Barely. It was a near perfect tree.

I didn’t see it …

On to the next one.

“Too bushy.” “Too bushy?! I protested, “I want bushy!”

Too bushy?! Trees can never be too bushy!!

I tried to find another tree and again, I was thwarted. Are you kidding me? Everyone was out of the house and I STILL couldn’t pick out a tree. Tree after tree my parents denied every piece of pine I pointed out. Why were they doing this to me? Well, as it turned out, my parents were encouraged by my siblings in far away places to disapprove of every tree I chose. I can see my siblings doing that, but my parents going along with it?! Wow. My mom, who is normally terrible at keeping pranks a secret, was actually able to pull it off too.

Even with all of them gone, I still couldn’t win. Siblings suck.

If you liked Blind Eagle’s sibling story, be sure to check back Wednesday and Friday of this week to read our other two finalists’ stories. And be sure to vote for your favorite!!!

So when he shares with me a story about how he was the victim, you have to understand, it’s a tough one to swallow. Particularly when it involves his younger and much kinder sister.

Now as you know, there are two sides to every story. So I will present both here.

Clifford tells his version like so –

He and his sister were outside playing as most siblings did in the 80’s, though it’s a bit of a foreign concept by today’s standards. At one point, Clifford was standing on top of a grapevine trellis.  There was a bird’s nest there that his sister had wanted to see so she asked for him to pull her up. He, as the loving doting older brother was about to oblige. With no support for him to grab hold to, he bent over the trellis and reached for his sister regardless. She had a hold of the garden hose as she reached for him in return.

As he began to pull her up to see the bird’s nest she’d been begging to see, he looked her in the eyes and said, “whatever you do, don’t let go.”

In that moment, his sister turned outright sinister as a scheming snarl crept across her face. She looked at him, with evil in her eyes, and let go.

Clifford took a complete nose-dive over the trellis, landing on his arms. Both broken in an instant. He felt his mother was out to get him too as she made him bathe before she would rush him to the hospital. So there he sat in the bathroom, being washed by his mom, with two broken arms and in immense pain while he anxiously awaited the ride to the emergency room. According to his mom, he was way too dirty to take out in public.

His sister’s version:

Clifford was the one who wanted to see the bird’s nest. The whole thing was his idea. And no, she did not conspire in any way to deliberately break his arms. Even though he’s like totally deserved it on many many occasions.  – okay, that last sentence may have been an editor’s addition.

I count this as a no-take-back because the vision of my husband being bathed by his mother with two broken arms is a visual I can’t even begin to cartoon because it’s so freaking hilarious. I share this story with you now to inspire you to write your sibling story and send it in.  Believe me, if you’ve got a sibling, there’s always a sibling story to share. Check out my first contest and win your own pair of sibling action figures. Submit your story today! 

Siblings can be a great support system, but they can also drive us nuts, put us in danger, and wreak havoc on our daily lives. I challenge you to share your finest sibling rivalry moment with the world. It could be a No-Take-Back, or it could be a Total-Take-Back; the call is yours.

The rules:

• In 500 words or less share your best sibling war story 

• Must be submitted to libby@no-take-backs.com on or before Monday, September 22^nd 

• Top three stories will be selected by me and published the week of September 29^th on my blog. The stories will then be voted upon by my readers. 

• The winning submission will receive a set of pristine action figures representing the most famous siblings the Universe has ever seen – Bespin Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia Organa (sponsored by The Mixed Market on Etsy) They will be yours for writing the winning entry. 
  

  Luke and Leia … the Universe’s most noteworthy siblings. All yours for the taking!

• The top three entries will be judged and selected by the creativity, wickedness, and humor in your version of events. 

Good luck and Godspeed. Email me with questions!