Childhood memories and vacuum cleaners

So today Drew mentioned that there was a contest going on to win tickets to see Fred Penner. What a dreamboat. The only catch was, the contest involved posting your funniest childhood memories. Funny? Knowing myself so well, I knew this was going to be a tough one. There are just so many memories to choose from.

I mean, should I go with the time when I killed a baby duck egg about to hatch at the age of three? To further lighten the mood, the mother then took her aborted child into the water and gave it a solemn funeral, watched in disbelief and utter rage by much more civilized French people who had only been looking for a nice patch of grass in the park on which to rest their much less violent children. I still maintain it was an act of mercy and that mother duck was probably single, and hardly able to take care of six children all at once; look what it's done to Kate (and Jon) Plus Eight.
Or maybe I should tell them about the time my older brother kicked a soccer ball in my face, or the time when he slammed the door on my thumb so hard the nail fell off, both incidences warranting a piercing scream compelling enough for the most horrific of the I Know What You Did Last Summer series of quality films?

I should probably think about telling them about the silent wrestling/kicking matches my little brother would have when my mother was teaching piano. Sure, we hated each other with an undying passion, but silence was key. Who wants to involve a third party? Even the vacuum hose I choked him with was dealt with very little sound.

And don't ever tell me your arm is broken, because I simply won't believe you. Throughout my childhood, people, including my little brother, have broken their arms and each time I adamantly refused to see things from their shattered-bone perspectives. It wasn't because of my violent tendencies, but because I honestly couldn't see how things just couldn't bend that way anyways. A doctor I shall be not.

Then there was that beautiful summer evening that my older brother was hunted down with his friends by the local police helicopter. And that especially romantic junior high day when a boy tried to tell me he liked me, I shot him down, and he hit me with a volleyball and gave me a black eye in retaliation. And how about a boy in gr.6 who masturbated with a ruler in the middle of class. There's a real winner - I'm sure the judges would appreciate a good childhood sexual liberation story.

Or, possibly my favourite, the time when my little brother told a friend I had never met that I had Down's Syndrome and I for some reason felt the need to play along, and the friend greeted me with that signature deer-in-headlights look I have come to recognize so often. Fred Penner's wiki page also tells me that his sister actually has Down's Syndrome, so how could he not relate?

I think Drew has since regretted informing me of this contest because he knows I'm going to win. Step aside kids, this ray of sunshine is about to get two tickets to the best night of her life...

*Edit: Drew has since won the tickets and will be appearing at Fred's show tonight for free, whereas I will be staying at home in a corner contemplating razor blades and the belt on my bathrobe.