George discovered one day a rather creative way to cope with his ambivalent feelings about his brotherly duties. It began while he was amusing himself with his toy soldiers, setting them up all across his bedroom floor's landscape in dramatic tableaus. George was always a quiet child who knew how to keep himself decorously amused with thoughtful pursuits, and that's just what he was trying to do when his exasperated mother suddenly intruded upon his private kingdom, baby brother from hell in tow.
"Georgy, honey, please keep Jimmy in here for a while!? Mommy and Daddy NEED to talk to each other. Please, honey? Thank you!" The frazzled woman dropped her toddler on the boy's bed and escaped, closing the door firmly behind her without waiting to hear his complaints.
George turned his attention immediately to Jim, which painful experience had already taught him to do. James Tiberius Kirk was at that time only one year old, but he already held the whole family hostage to his infantile demands.
"If you think you're gonna mess this up, Pest, you got another think comin'!" George darkly warned the drooling tyke. "You just stay on the bed, or you'll be sorry!"
Little Jimmy laughed and opened his chubby arms to his adored big bubba.
"I'm not kiddin'!" George growled, "Don't even think about messing this up, or you are dead meat!"
Jimmy rolled across the bed and fell onto the floor. George reached to save him from the impact one second too late. Jimmy screamed, with a scream which would have (as usual) given anyone within earshot elevated blood pressure.
George flushed hotly. "Dang it!" He lifted the babe back up onto his bed. Jimmy grabbed his shirt and hung on, refusing to be neatly replaced.
From a farther room George heard his mother call, "George!? Do you have a problem!?"
"No, Mom!" George replied as he wrangled his shirt from Jimmy's deathlike grip. "Everything's OK!"
Little Jimmy offered a shrill squeal of protest as his brother wrested his shirt out of Jim's sticky clasp.
Jim of course refused to stay put out of harm's way on his brother's bed. Within minutes George realized that he didn't have what it took to restrain him, and other measures would have to be employed. He watched as Jimmy waded through, destroying within seconds a scene it took him 40 minutes to perfect. A sensation that his formally orderly life was now irretrievably out of his own control and at the mercy of inhuman Nature overwhelmed him for a moment. Then, he had an idea.
George put a toy truck into Jimmy's fat little hand, and when the toddler demonstrated his acceptance of this sacrificial offering by jamming it into his mouth, George tossed the kid, truck and all, back onto his cot.
For a few minutes, it seemed to work. Jim gnawed on the toy with evident relish, and was for a few short minutes, pleased. But it didn't last. He chewed, examined, chewed, pondered, and chewed on the truck some more, then lost interest. By then, thankfully, George knew what else to do to save his sanity and make lemonade out of the lemons life had given him.
By the time Jimmy was once again on the hoof and rampaging among his brother's bivouacked army, George had his coping mechanism fully engaged.
"Suddenly, and without warning, Doctor Destructo appeared among them, and heaven help us, he had found a way to make himself TWENTY STORIES TALL!" George breathessly intoned. "Oh no! He's Developed A Taste For Human Flesh!"
Little Jimmy sampled a toy soldier, head first.
All site contents Copyright L. Goodwin 1990 - 2002
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