My Brothers; Joel the Spitter
I loved going with my Mom to the grocery store, shopping or anywhere she went. I didn't like being left home in my brothers care. They did love me, they were good to me, but they tortured me too. I am going to tell a few stories from my five wonderous older brothers but one at a time. This is the first; Joel the spitter.
Pinned to the floor with a knee on each of my arms my brother Joel was laughing while my other brothers goaded him on. He snarfed up some awful gunk in his throat and would let the trail of spit and grossness drop down towards my face to then suck it back up again. The entire time I was screaming.
On one particular occasion, I was screaming and wiggling back and forth. The spit unlogged itself from his mouth and fell into mine. It was the most disgusting thing. He laughed letting go of me, "Ali, I am sorry. Next time don't fight it!"
As I slapped and hit him, I hollered, "I will always fight it you jerk." He rolled back laughing, "Stop, or you'll hurt me." He was joking of course; I never could hurt my massive brother.
A bit of sibling roughhousing and grossness never killed anyone. Over Christmas we had a few squabbles; the normal sibling stuff. I was embarrassed at first. My parents and in-laws were here, and my kids were being....kids. Then I thought back and remembered. It was no different; we bickered and had ridiculous behavior sometimes too. It's part of growing up.
–Allison Ochs, Social Worker M.S.W. , Coach, Expat, Mother of three, Wife