STRANGER THAN FICTION: SIBLING TORTURE IS PART OF FAMILY LIFE

My mother has had two marriages, five children, at least 10 dogs, several cats and numerous migraines.

The last item on the list was no doubt caused by the other four, but the children contributed the most. I'm the oldest, age 25, and kids ages 20, 18, 14 and 11 follow.

There's an unwritten rule somewhere that siblings must mentally or physically torture each other. Not to stereotype, but I think women rely more on mental torture and men on physical, but not necessarily.

My specialty was definitely mental. When my sister Jennifer was a mere five-year-old, I started convincing her that I wasn't actually a member of our family. I had been sent here from another planet to observe her and MOM KNEW IT but wouldn't admit to it. What's more, when Jen fell asleep, I used a secret device to transmit messages back to my home planet.

Hook, line and sinker. She believed it for about a year, then she wised up, calling for a new lie.

Jennifer and Adria, another sister, weren't allowed to touch the garage door opener, a rule which stemmed from the time Dad pulled the family station wagon halfway out of the garage to work on it. Adria ambled into the car and pressed the garage door opener, bringing the door down on top of the car.

Good openers stop if the door touches anything sold. Our 50-year-old model kept jerking up and down on top of the wagon until it wore a neat little line in the paint and a small dent. Someone finally pulled the plug.

Anyway, Mom put the fear of God in Jen and Adria about touching the opener. So when she left us in the car to run into the store, miles away from home, I'd press the button and tell my sisters the garage door was opening.

"AND THE NEIGHBOR KIDS ARE STEALING YOUR BIKES!" I shrieked, laughing maniacally. They always cried.

I feel bad now.

I collected a few other sibling torture stories for you.

PATRICK: When my brother was little, we used to sit on my parents' bed and pretend it was a boat in shark-infested waters. He took it really seriously.

He had this bear he carried around all the time, so I always grabbed it and threw it on the floor, yellin~g, "The sharks got your bear! The sharks got your bear!" He'd cry and beg me to get it, but I wouldn't. He'd finally go get it and hurry back onto the bed.

So I threw it off again.

LYNN: My family lived on a country road with barely any traffic. So if my little sister and I were playing in the front yard and I saw a car coming from far off, I'd act like I was checking the mailbox across the street. Then I'd fall down in the middle of the road and say my legs were paralyzed.

Nicole always tried to drag me out of danger, but I was too big. I'd just lay there and say~, "Save yourself, Nicki. I'm doomed."

When the car got closer, I'd say I was healed and get back in the yard.

RYAN: We had this big persimmon tree in our yard, so my little brother and I always got into persimmon fights. Of course, my aim was better. Those fights were always either painful or messy, depending on the ripeness.

My favorite thing to do was wait for a big snow. My brother would make a little fort under the deck, but I'd just wait on top of the deck until he got bored and came out to look for me.

Then I'd dump a big bucket of snow on his head.

Wonder how many of these children went into therapy as adults?

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.