Sibling Rivalry

I was reading a post on Peter DeWolf's blog about how he and his sister used to fight when they were younger. It made me nostalgic and reminiscent of the days when my brother and myself used to throw down.

Anyone that knows us may be shocked to learn that the loving, caring, nurturing relationship we have now (ahem) took years of physical and emotional abuse to foster. We didn't arrive to this place overnight.

One particular incident sticks out in my mind. As I like to remember it, it's the day my brother stopped kicking my ass, or, as he calls it, "The day I learned Pinky was slightly psychotic" (Yah my nickname is Pinky. What?).

My brother had been taking tae kwon do for about a year and he considered me perfect to practice his technique on. A few weeks earlier he had kicked me in the face and busted my lip open. Blood and all. Needless to say, he got in a lot of trouble, but that never deterred him. He started pushing me around again on this particular day, but little did he know, that I had been waiting for just this moment. He got close to my face and I grabbed a pair of scissors that were nearby and went for his lip. I snipped a piece off of his lower lip in the middle (surprisingly close to where he had kicked me a few weeks earlier). He had to go to the doctor. No stitches, but he still has a scar.