My Childhood Part 1

Over these past few days I've been bombarded by memories from the times when I was young lad. I visited places that I used to play at as a young lad. I met people whom I used to annoy as a young boy, and I even saw young kids behaving the way I did when I was a young chap. But what came back to me the most was the years where I did not particularly enjoy. Standard 3 right up to Standard 6. For all those years, I had teachers who picked on me alot. And honestly, I still don't understand why. I admit that I did not finish much of their homework. But so were the others. But I guess that the past is the past and I'd better get that out of my system. Idiots are not worth mentioning. But what I would like to talk about is my 'bad arse childhood'

I'm sure alot of you must have heard about it ny now. But for those of you who have not, here goes. Hmm, where should I start? Ok, I guess I'd start with all the little details.

My name is Senthil, I was born on the 24th of August 1988, one day after Yee Leong who also happens to be my neighbour. I don't know what I am, but my parents say that I'm a Hindu, and therefore I should marry a Hindu girl. But we all know that it won't happen. Alright, now that you know a little bit about me, I shall go on to the things that I did as a little boy.

When I was a young boy, I loved destroying things. Among them were cars, tables, toys, dad's whisky bottles. I particularly remember damaging my dad's Mercedes- Benz. Twice. This is how it happened. Remember how those old Mercedes cars used to have a logo on the front of their hood which could turn? My dad's car had one of those. What I would do is, I would go up to the car and start twisting the logo as if it were a toy. And after a few twists, the logo would unmount from its hole. And there is no way to fix it. So I would panic and leave it on the hood and pretend as if nothing happened. Then when dad got home, he would get really upset and then give me the hardest beating in the world. Yeah, it was painful. He would beat me with the broken logo. How's that for size? It cost my dad a bomb to repair it. The best part was, I did it all over again, a few days later. And like the last time, I got a good beating, with the logo. Since then, I have never dared tamper with his car.

The second time where I damaged a car was when I was around five. What happened was, my brother and I were sitting at the front seat of my mother's Toyota. Everyone else was in the house. My brother was in the drivers seat while I was in the seat next to him. Suddenly, I put my hand on the handbrake and pushed it down. To my horror, the car started to roll backwards. Our driveway was sloped back then. Anyways, I started to panic. I did not know what to do. I quickly opened the door, and jumped out of the car. Leaving my brother in it. When I jumped out, I saw the front gate open. The car kept rolling down, picking up speed as it did. And before I knew it, it had smashed with a loud crashing sound into my opposite neighbour's front gate. That's when all hell broke loose. Everybody came running out of the house to see what had happened. I remember my grandma running out of the house. She had difficulty running because she was wearing a Saree. All I did was stand there and watch. The next thing I knew was that the neighbours came outside to see what happened. Before you knew it, I was being interrogated by every single one of my family members. I laid the blame on my brother. That sight still makes me laugh to this very day! Imagine seeing a white Toyota with your brother in it roll down the driveway, smash into your neighbour's gate then have everyone, including your old grandma run out to see what had happened. Oh brother. Of course, I have more car incidents. My brother and I caused my mother to get into a crash once. We were fighting.

Another thing which I used to do as a little boy was to play with water. Only this time, I used water to 'wash' my house. You see, I had this Indonesian maid quite some time ago. Her name was Yati. When she spoke, we couldn't even understand her as she had a very thick Indonesian accent. But fact is, I loved to give her trouble. What I would do is, I would turn on the tap which had a hose and bring it all the way to the kitchen. I would then spray the entire kitchen with water. So much so that the kitchen would become flooded. When I say flooded, I really mean flooded. The water would be up to my ankles. The carpets would become soaked in water. When that happened, Yati used to start screaming in the funniest of accents. When she tried to stop me, I would then start spraying her with water instead. That's when she would start screaming even louder. She would then chase me around the house. Catch me, then beat me. After doing that, she would run outside and start crying. God, her crying was so loud that all the neighbours, the housewives, would come out running to see what had happened. I would then get a good scolding. After that, my mother would come back. Before she walked into the house, she would greet me with hugs, but the moment she walked in, she would give me the harshest caning. She would use the feather duster, the cake spoon and all kinds of other weapons. I did this not once, not twice, but many times. Do you now understand my fixation for water?

But another watery incident happened when I was five also. One day, my brother and I were playing in the garden. We then heard a very familiar sound. It was the post man. We quickly grabbed the hose. When the postman came to our house to deliver the letters, we turned on the tap and started spraying him with water. He got the shock of his life. He reversed while screaming 'Tolong! Tolong!' That was when my maid came rushing out to see what was happening. The guy backed away and rode off to the next house.

So here you have it, part one, of my naughty childhood. I have alot more stories to tell. The next one's involve fire and televisions. But I shall leave them for another post. So, am I an angel or what?