I am a Dirty Rat!

(Steve Novak's Blog reminded me of this memory, so thanks)

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I am a Dirty Rat. And a Snitch. I'll tell you why.

One day when I was about 9 years old, my 6 year old brother and I were spending a nice Saturday afternoon at my Grandmother's house.

My parents must have been off running and screaming, "We're Free, We're Free" or something like that.

Since it was such a hot day, we were given a bag of balloons to fill with water and cool off with.

We did, but someone (Me) came up with the great idea that we should throw them at the sidewalk and watch them splat.

That was pretty boring after 5 minutes, so someone (Me) came up with the great idea that it would be better if we threw them into oncoming traffic in the road, right into the windshield of moving vehicles.

Now, that was freaking awesome! We had half the neighborhood cursing and swerving; it was hilarious!

I can still see the last car pulling up in my mind. For some reason it was going a bit slower than the others and it was a bit closer to the curb than the others... They must have really wanted to be pummeled!

This part moves in Slow-Mo. I pull back my arm, push forward, and release the water balloon. At that exact moment, the passesnger door flies open and a big tall man darts out and starts running towards us.

Time to boogie, I'm out! Run, Run Run, Run, Run... Snatch!

I feel myself picked up by the back of my shirt and lifted into the air.

I peer into the eyes of an Undercover Detective. I never saw a man run so fast in my life. His eyes were red and mean from under the shades. Then came a loud boom from his voice:

"Where is he?"

Now, my brother got a bit of a head start on me, but I can see him hiding behind a bush in front of me. I can still see his little eyes peering from in between the branches.

"I'm not going to ask again! Where is he?"

I rasied my arm towards the house. My finger slowly entended to the little boy in the bush. "He is right there."

I snitched.

I wasn't going down alone! I was tortured for at least 15 seconds before I talked anyway...

So he grabbed him up by the neck with the other arm and dragged us upstairs to our grandmother's house.

Our punishment? We couldn't go outside anymore that day. To keep us occupied, we were stuffed rotten with Kit-Kat bars, Ice-Cream, and tons of Cookies.

She never told my parents. Whew! I might not be here today to tell you this lovely story.