Caroline Shelley
Professor Rob Frank
English 101
21 September 2008
Snitches Get Stitches
	My first grade teacher, Mrs. MacDonald, use to threaten us with an old, ratty fox tail that stayed tucked away in the bottom draw in her desk. On the first day of school, her eyes became real squinty and she said, “ You know what I do to children in my class that tattle tale,” and our little beady eyes expanded, “I pin this fox tail to their bottom and make them wear it for the rest of the day.” I was terrified but she never did put the tail on a child. I wish I had remembered about that disgusting tail the day I told on my brothers.
	Covered in dirt and splattered paint I waited for my mom to come home from work. As she pulled into the driveway I ran out of the house and opened her car door. I wasn’t excited to have her home I just wanted to tell on my brothers. I tried to catch my breath as I told my mom everything the boys did to me. I fibbed and elaborated as I described how they used their paintball guns to pin me down to the massive dirt hill and use me as moving target practice. I forced myself to tear up and said my bruised knee was from a paintball. I used anything to help convince my mom to punish my brothers. I was a conniving little girl that had paid back headed my way.
 Two weeks after tattle tailing on my brothers I came home to an unthinkable surprise. After an early morning of hide and seek, I ran home for a quick lunch. To my surprise the side door was locked. I stood at our obnoxious yellow door impatiently banging for someone to open up. My brother Luke finally opened the door, “We’re working on the dryer. Use the front door.” Sweat rolled down my face and burned my eyes. I moped around to the front door only to find it locked. I pounded harder on the door just begging for someone to open it. Three minutes went by but it seemed like forever. The anger grew inside of me. 
	At age nine, curse words poured out of my mouth. I had strung words together that little girls shouldn’t know and should definitely never say. As my fists beat harder, my yelling grew louder. A faint “Caroline” came from across the gravel lane. It was my buddy Jimmy. I told him not now. I’ll never know why at that exact moment I looked up, maybe it was the tone in Jimmy’s voice. My eyes grew large as I watched a five gallon bucket of water cascade from the second story window and douse me. The amount of water running over me hid my tears as I ran from my front porch to a nearby tree. As I climbed, the laughter from my house seemed to echo as my brothers chuckled and giggled like school girls. My plan was to hide up at the top of the tree until my mom came home but I should have known that would be unsuccessful. Tires spun and gravel was flown as my three brothers piled into my brother’s pickup truck dressed in ponchos and sombreros, stacked with the largest trio of Super Soakers. Once again I was pinned, but this time at the top of a tree. They shot me with streams of water that stung as they hit me. I cried harder and cursed even louder. The only thing to do was to wait it out. 
	When they finally ran out of water and drove off, I knew it was my chance to make it to our house. Our front hill never seemed so steep as I ran as fast as I could. Once inside I could only think of one place to hide and that was my closet. Feeling completely defeated and still drenched I rearranged my clothes to make myself more hidden and unseen. I froze as I heard my brother’s footsteps speeding up the stairs and make the left into my room. My brother Josh opened the closet door and parted the hanging clothes and said, “Snitches get stitches.” He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at me with my hair a damp rat’s nest and my clothes sagging on my tiny body. I wanted to hate him and my other brothers but I knew I should have never snitched on them. 
	For a while I couldn’t appreciate what my brothers did to me but now I look back and all I can do is laugh and be grateful for all that harmless torture. Similar to Mrs. MacDonald, siblings have their ways of teaching lessons. While in first grade I was scared into learning the lesson I certainly learned it that hot summer day.  After that day not only did I learn not to be a tattle tale I learned that my brothers really were just watching out for me and making me a cooler little sister.