There were times in our adult lives that we kids thought that our mother was a bit peculiar. The others thought it was because our mother was a closet drinker. That was a fact that I chose to overlook. My summation of events in our lives, and in our mother’s life led me to understand that if indeed our mother was peculiar, we probably pushed her over the edge.
When I was eleven, Danny was seven and Michael was three. Just for fun, Danny and I decided to bury my baby brother in the middle of a country dirt road that ran in front of our house. It was a private road that serviced the five houses on it. The soil was soft and sandy. Digging a hole big enough to hold my brother was easy and took very little time. We buried him up to his neck and replaced the sods around his neck so that only his head was visible. I told him to close his eyes and to pretend he was dead.
Next, I told Danny to go and tell our mother that Michael had been hit by a car. When we went into the house, my mother was busy doing laundry. Danny said his part. My mother dropped what she was doing and headed for the door. I thought she should have reacted a little more hysterical than she did so I added that Michael’s head had come off.
When mother went outside and saw her baby’s head lying on its side in the roadway, she lost her mind…big time. She screamed so loud and so long that all the neighbors came rushing out of their houses to see what was happening. Michael started laughing. In his laughter, his little head rolled around on the ground.
It took a long time for my mother to regain control of herself. One of the neighbors made her a cup of tea and declared that mother had the most hateful children in the world. I know that now, but at the time, it seemed like good fun on a hot summer’s day.