Does A Slightly Embarrassing Cousin Count??

My most embarrassing relative...

This week's topic is a tough one for me because I can't remember any embarrassing relatives! The closest I have is a cousin, two years younger than I, who was a holy terror when we were kids. No secret. Even he admits it. Neighbors would flee when this six-year-old stalked the sidewalks, slingshot in hand.

I remember one particular bus trip when "Bobby" (not his real name), his mother, my mom and I were going "uptown" to shop. (I should explain that "downtown" was the shopping district in our small hometown. Shopping "uptown" meant traveling about an hour by bus to Louisville, the largest city.)

Anyway, when "Bobby" wasn't thoroughly annoying every single passenger by running up and down the aisle sticking his tongue out at them, he was hanging out the bus window, thumbs stuck in both ears, fingers waving, giving the, naaaah-naaaah-naaaah salute. For you younger readers, this would be equivalent to one of the more disrespectful gestures of today. I still remember my mother's shock and embarrassment, but I thought it was pretty funny.

Amazingly, "Bobby" grew up! Especially considering, when he was about 8, he wrapped a bath towel over his shoulders, climbed onto the roof of his house and did a Superman impersonation. Results? Six months in a leg cast.

I'm not sure if it was that incident or divine intervention, but before he got into high school, he changed. The brat was gone; replaced by a quiet, studious teenager. He still had a funny side and was a great practical joker, but the jokes were all in good fun. He went on to become a successful businessman with many lifelong friends.

So, that's all I've got. A slightly annoying younger cousin. I don't know if I simply don't remember being embarrassed by my relatives, or if I was just too busy being embarrassed by myself.

Mary Cunningham is the author of the award-winning series, "Cynthia's Attic," and "Ghost Light," 'tween fiction/short story (Kindle).

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The Embarrassment Was Mutual!

by Pam Ripling

My brother told my friends that I lived in a closet. No lie. He was, at 17, already a great cartoonist, and he drew a picture of me with the heading, “MOLE HOLE” and taped it onto my bedroom door. Later, he thought better of it, and moved it to the hall closet door. Oh, my friends thought it was a riot!

He once tried to trade me a silver dollar for a plush bunny I’d received for Easter. No dice! I wouldn’t have given it to him for all the tea in Chinatown. I wanted that dollar, but no way was I negotiating with my arch-nemesis.

I got back at him, though. He had a little record player in his room, and although I wasn’t technically allowed to play in his room, I would. Sneak that I was. I turned on that record player and gave Barbie the ride of her life. Grew bored, left it going. Brother came home from high school with friends, had to explain Thrill Ride Barbie. Snort.

He was a pen-and-ink artist. I was fascinated by those little black bottles of India ink. So fascinated that I once dumped one on his bed. Oops. But he delighted in telling everyone that I was in love with Bobby Sherman or David Cassidy or whomever was my current heartthrob. So I wrote on his car. With paste.

Today, we are the best of friends and hardly ever embarrass each other. I think the teasing, razzing and pranks actually brought us closer somehow. Still, I do bring along a jar of paste when I visit him, just in case. You never know.

Pam Ripling is the author of middle-grade mystery, LOCKER SHOCK! Buy it at Quake, Fictionwise or Amazon today! E-book version now available for your Kindle! Visit Pam at www.BeaconStreetBooks.com.