JUST KIDDING. We all know that’s how it works in “The Family.” But for a Mother of Boys, a “hit job” means something else. It means that someone is hitting someone else, and it’s up to me to stop it. With all that uproar, you can see why I was easy pickins for a group called Females Advocating Rest Times.
I’ll admit it. I hiccuped in surprise when that packet came and I noted their acronym. Just as I was deliberating over it, Someone shot Someone Else with the slingshot, and two others came to blows over the last cookie.
That pledge card was signed, stamped and halfway to Cleveland by the time their dad got home.
BROTHERS UNDERTAKING Resistant Positions (BURP), is another club that’s big in these parts. Those boys can fight. Oh, can they ever. There were, you might recall, the infamous monkey wars of 2005. When one of them insisted on taking his entire collection of stuffed monkeys to bed, the explosion that followed made Mt. St. Helens look like a science fair project.
“I hate waking up with a monkey under my back!” an older sibling shouted, firing Curious George across the room. That was when the two-monkey rule was implemented, and an uneasy peace was brokered.
It’s not just Mr. Schrock’s sons, though. My own brother was a BURP member all the way. As the baby of the family (and the only boy), he just didn’t seem to understand the authority his two older sisters carried in his life.
He was a STINKER. Oops. I mean a stinker. He was that, alright, and ornery as all get out. Creative kid that he was, he loved playing pranks and getting the drop on us.
“Get lost,” we’d hiss. “Right there’s a tall tree and a short rope. Hop to it.” When he’d ignore these suggestions, along with our invitation to explore the Andes Mountains for, oh, say, a lifetime, we’d do what sisters do. We’d yell for Mom and rat him out.
Unfortunately, he took his BURP membership serious. Real serious, seeing as how he taught himself to burp the alphabet (I am not making this up) and drove us nuts with that.
Forget Morse Code. He could burp a message to you, one letter at a time, until you wanted to choke him. That, or laugh hysterically.