My Brother's Ruler

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story about a ruler used as a punishment instead of a learning tool....

Submitted: May 08, 2009

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Submitted: May 08, 2009

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 This time my brother, Fred was in trouble. Sandy, the oldest child of the family had been outside talking to a friend, when he decided to scare the day lights out of her.

Mom and I were in the kitchen talking when all of a sudden we heard this blood-chilling scream.

I looked at Mom, she glanced at me and we both rose from our chairs and ran for the door. Standing outside and looking at the scene before me, I beheld the most horrendous sight imaginable for a girl.

We were just in time to see Sandy take one look at a jar Fred held in his hand, and she let loose another scream. He was holding her by one arm, and in the other hand he held a jar. He was jumping up and down, yelling and laughing in her face as he taunted her with it.

"This is what your having for supper tonight." I heard him tell her.

I glanced at the jar, and my mouth hung open in shock, as I realized that the jar had worms in it. He was taunting her relentlessly with it.

Sandy let loose another earth shattering scream and dug her nails into his arm causing him to loose his hold on her. She then turned and ran towards the house. He was right behind her.

We watched as he pursued Sandy with the squirming mass of worms. He hadn't just put one or two in the jar, but had packed it full. As he ran he was trying to pry the lid off.

Oh, my God! He's going to throw the whole jar on her! My thoughts tumbled inside my head.

What on earth is wrong with him? I thought my parents were going to blame this on the devil, as they were always saying hell is not just for the devil, but people too. My bible-believing parents had instilled in us children, that devils made people do evil things. In my nine year-old mind, Fred was qualifying for a good candidate for hell.

Lord, only knows what he would have done with it. My imagination cooked up a scenario with my poor sister wearing a mass of worms all over her dress, and her screaming nonstop, tears streaming down her face.

He was always doing something horrendous, but this time it was the most gross, despicable thing he could have ever done.

To make it worse, Mom was serving spaghetti for supper tonight.

Now here he sat on a chair, huffing and puffing as my mother paced back and forth in front of him, waving an old yardstick. It had seen a lot of things, and had witnessed the total humiliation of many of its victims.

I know first hand, because it had been used numerous times on my backside. Mother thought it was an invaluable tool in learning arithmetic. Unfortunately, the only thing that old yardstick delivered was absolute and total fear.

Mom strode back and forth, ranting about the insensitive behaviour of my 12-year-old brother. They were in the kitchen, where the family gathered to discuss the day's events. She never yelled, for her voice wasn't at all strong. Her voice rose and fell in what one would think should be a yell, but was instead a rough voice. Her speech accelerated with each word that she uttered.

Fred's eyes followed her as she paced before him. His eyes had turned a reddish hue, his breathing labored in anger as his chest rose and fell huffing as he shot daggers at her. His hands were clutched in tight fists at his sides. His body taut and angry, he sat on the chair glaring at Mom. Clearly something had taken over my usually mild mannered, but joke loving brother.

Suddenly she stopped pacing and stood in front of him, and continued to give him the third degree. She emphasized what she was saying to him with the old yardstick, waving it in his face.

Suddenly he lurched forward off his seat, grabbed the yardstick, sat back down and with both hands he snapped it in two.

There was nothing I could do to help my brother, so I stood peeking around the corner, watching the drama unfold.

He really deserves that ruler on his backside... Inside I was glaring daggers at him, for it could have easily been me he did that to.

Knowing my brother's temper, I knew something was going to happen.

I stood out of reach of them both, holding my breath. I gasped in alarm as I saw him snatch the yardstick from her.

My mother was so stunned; she just stood there, mouth agape and glared at him. She threw up her hands and continued to lecture him.

I couldn't believe what he had done, that he was brave enough to do what I never could have. Delighted thoughts ran through my head...well at least she can't hit me with that thing anymore. I never did like her style of teaching arithmetic anyway.

She ended the lecture and then sent him to his room.

In public school, a teacher's method of punishment was less severe than that old yardstick. Getting the strap was never as bad as getting hit with that long yardstick. It should have been out ruled long ago. To feel the sharp lash of that ruler not only hurt, but instilled tremendous fear in me.

To this day I can't look at a yardstick and not remember that long ago time when my brother broke the ruler, and the joy I felt that it could not be used as a weapon any longer.

This time my brother, Fred was in trouble. Sandy, the oldest child of the family had been outside talking to a friend, when he decided to scare the day lights out of her.

Mom and I were in the kitchen talking when all of a sudden we heard this blood-chilling scream.

I looked at Mom, she glanced at me and we both rose from our chairs and ran for the door. Standing outside and looking at the scene before me, I beheld the most horrendous sight imaginable for a girl.

We were just in time to see Sandy take one look at a jar Fred held in his hand, and she let loose another scream. He was holding her by one arm, and in the other hand he held a jar. He was jumping up and down, yelling and laughing in her face as he taunted her with it.

"This is what your having for supper tonight." I heard him tell her.

I glanced at the jar, and my mouth hung open in shock, as I realized that the jar had worms in it. He was taunting her relentlessly with it.

Sandy let loose another earth shattering scream and dug her nails into his arm causing him to loose his hold on her. She then turned and ran towards the house. He was right behind her.

We watched as he pursued Sandy with the squirming mass of worms. He hadn't just put one or two in the jar, but had packed it full. As he ran he was trying to pry the lid off.

Oh, my God! He's going to throw the whole jar on her! My thoughts tumbled inside my head.

What on earth is wrong with him? I thought my parents were going to blame this on the devil, as they were always saying hell is not just for the devil, but people too. My bible-believing parents had instilled in us children, that devils made people do evil things. In my nine year-old mind, Fred was qualifying for a good candidate for hell.

Lord, only knows what he would have done with it. My imagination cooked up a scenario with my poor sister wearing a mass of worms all over her dress, and her screaming nonstop, tears streaming down her face.

He was always doing something horrendous, but this time it was the most gross, despicable thing he could have ever done.

To make it worse, Mom was serving spaghetti for supper tonight.

Now here he sat on a chair, huffing and puffing as my mother paced back and forth in front of him, waving an old yardstick. It had seen a lot of things, and had witnessed the total humiliation of many of its victims.

I know first hand, because it had been used numerous times on my backside. Mother thought it was an invaluable tool in learning arithmetic. Unfortunately, the only thing that old yardstick delivered was absolute and total fear.

Mom strode back and forth, ranting about the insensitive behaviour of my 12-year-old brother. They were in the kitchen, where the family gathered to discuss the day's events. She never yelled, for her voice wasn't at all strong. Her voice rose and fell in what one would think should be a yell, but was instead a rough voice. Her speech accelerated with each word that she uttered.

Fred's eyes followed her as she paced before him. His eyes had turned a reddish hue, his breathing labored in anger as his chest rose and fell huffing as he shot daggers at her. His hands were clutched in tight fists at his sides. His body taut and angry, he sat on the chair glaring at Mom. Clearly something had taken over my usually mild mannered, but joke loving brother.

Suddenly she stopped pacing and stood in front of him, and continued to give him the third degree. She emphasized what she was saying to him with the old yardstick, waving it in his face.

Suddenly he lurched forward off his seat, grabbed the yardstick, sat back down and with both hands he snapped it in two.

There was nothing I could do to help my brother, so I stood peeking around the corner, watching the drama unfold.

He really deserves that ruler on his backside... Inside I was glaring daggers at him, for it could have easily been me he did that to.

Knowing my brother's temper, I knew something was going to happen.

I stood out of reach of them both, holding my breath. I gasped in alarm as I saw him snatch the yardstick from her.

My mother was so stunned; she just stood there, mouth agape and glared at him. She threw up her hands and continued to lecture him.

I couldn't believe what he had done, that he was brave enough to do what I never could have. Delighted thoughts ran through my head...well at least she can't hit me with that thing anymore. I never did like her style of teaching arithmetic anyway.

She ended the lecture and then sent him to his room.

In public school, a teacher's method of punishment was less severe than that old yardstick. Getting the strap was never as bad as getting hit with that long yardstick. It should have been out ruled long ago. To feel the sharp lash of that ruler not only hurt, but instilled tremendous fear in me.

To this day I can't look at a yardstick and not remember that long ago time when my brother broke the ruler, and the joy I felt that it could not be used as a weapon any longer.
This time my brother, Fred was in trouble. Sandy, the oldest child of the family had been outside talking to a friend, when he decided to scare the day lights out of her.

Mom and I were in the kitchen talking when all of a sudden we heard this blood-chilling scream.

I looked at Mom, she glanced at me and we both rose from our chairs and ran for the door. Standing outside and looking at the scene before me, I beheld the most horrendous sight imaginable for a girl.

We were just in time to see Sandy take one look at a jar Fred held in his hand, and she let loose another scream. He was holding her by one arm, and in the other hand he held a jar. He was jumping up and down, yelling and laughing in her face as he taunted her with it.

"This is what your having for supper tonight." I heard him tell her.

I glanced at the jar, and my mouth hung open in shock, as I realized that the jar had worms in it. He was taunting her relentlessly with it.

Sandy let loose another earth shattering scream and dug her nails into his arm causing him to loose his hold on her. She then turned and ran towards the house. He was right behind her.

We watched as he pursued Sandy with the squirming mass of worms. He hadn't just put one or two in the jar, but had packed it full. As he ran he was trying to pry the lid off.

Oh, my God! He's going to throw the whole jar on her! My thoughts tumbled inside my head.

What on earth is wrong with him? I thought my parents were going to blame this on the devil, as they were always saying hell is not just for the devil, but people too. My bible-believing parents had instilled in us children, that devils made people do evil things. In my nine year-old mind, Fred was qualifying for a good candidate for hell.

Lord, only knows what he would have done with it. My imagination cooked up a scenario with my poor sister wearing a mass of worms all over her dress, and her screaming nonstop, tears streaming down her face.

He was always doing something horrendous, but this time it was the most gross, despicable thing he could have ever done.

To make it worse, Mom was serving spaghetti for supper tonight.

Now here he sat on a chair, huffing and puffing as my mother paced back and forth in front of him, waving an old yardstick. It had seen a lot of things, and had witnessed the total humiliation of many of its victims.

I know first hand, because it had been used numerous times on my backside. Mother thought it was an invaluable tool in learning arithmetic. Unfortunately, the only thing that old yardstick delivered was absolute and total fear.

Mom strode back and forth, ranting about the insensitive behaviour of my 12-year-old brother. They were in the kitchen, where the family gathered to discuss the day's events. She never yelled, for her voice wasn't at all strong. Her voice rose and fell in what one would think should be a yell, but was instead a rough voice. Her speech accelerated with each word that she uttered.

Fred's eyes followed her as she paced before him. His eyes had turned a reddish hue, his breathing labored in anger as his chest rose and fell huffing as he shot daggers at her. His hands were clutched in tight fists at his sides. His body taut and angry, he sat on the chair glaring at Mom. Clearly something had taken over my usually mild mannered, but joke loving brother.

Suddenly she stopped pacing and stood in front of him, and continued to give him the third degree. She emphasized what she was saying to him with the old yardstick, waving it in his face.

Suddenly he lurched forward off his seat, grabbed the yardstick, sat back down and with both hands he snapped it in two.

There was nothing I could do to help my brother, so I stood peeking around the corner, watching the drama unfold.

He really deserves that ruler on his backside... Inside I was glaring daggers at him, for it could have easily been me he did that to.

Knowing my brother's temper, I knew something was going to happen.

I stood out of reach of them both, holding my breath. I gasped in alarm as I saw him snatch the yardstick from her.

My mother was so stunned; she just stood there, mouth agape and glared at him. She threw up her hands and continued to lecture him.

I couldn't believe what he had done, that he was brave enough to do what I never could have. Delighted thoughts ran through my head...well at least she can't hit me with that thing anymore. I never did like her style of teaching arithmetic anyway.

She ended the lecture and then sent him to his room.

In public school, a teacher's method of punishment was less severe than that old yardstick. Getting the strap was never as bad as getting hit with that long yardstick. It should have been out ruled long ago. To feel the sharp lash of that ruler not only hurt, but instilled tremendous fear in me.

To this day I can't look at a yardstick and not remember that long ago time when my brother broke the ruler, and the joy I felt that it could not be used as a weapon any longer.


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