|How could one so cute break anything?|
When I was a little tyke, my "big bother" dubbed me Miss Breaker. After that, I was blamed for everything that broke, whether I'd done it or not. For example, take the large cushy chair in the family room. After many years of use, the back sagged and little 60 pound me was blamed. Okay, I admit I used to climb over the back and somersault into the cushion, but did I really break it? Adult people plopped into that chair all the time. Certainly that wore the back out more than a tiny, innocent child.
I was also blamed for the broken bushes in front of the house. The bushes? Really? Those huge leafy things were twice my size. How could little me have broken them? Okay, I admit my ball landed in the bushes a few times, and I fought branches to get it back, but did I really break them? The wind blew a lot, and we even had an earthquake one day. Certainly the weather wore out the bushes more than a tiny, innocent child.
Of course, I was not the only one blamed for weather. When a rumbling sounded through our home, my dad hollered up the stairs, "Florence! Stop jumping around up there."
To which my mom said, "It's not me! It's an earthquake."
See, those frequent St. Louis earthquakes do a lot of damage to chairs, bushes, and marriages. So, should one blame a tiny, innocent child . . . again?