How I Nearly Didn't Meet Your Mother

Dates have always been an issue for me. This is important for the story I'm about to tell you.

Now, your Uncle Rob is a perfectly decent human being nowadays. Growing up will do that to a person. Back in the day though? He was mean, with capital M. Now, it's true that, even though he had 7 years and roughly 30 pounds on me, he did not pull the usual bully antics, such as wet willies, wedgies, or the time honored 'lock you into a closet and leave you there 'til you cry yourself to sleep'. No; besides the occasional barb and thwack upside the head, pranks were his bread and butter. He used his seniority and the moral authority that came with it, to keep me on my toes, keep me guessing whether whatever he was saying was true or false. He was wily enough to tell me the truth sometimes, and let me tell you, he was a master at balancing it and keeping me right in the middle of trusting and disbelieving.

So it's Sunday morning, birds are singing, and I come down the stairs well aware that, today of all days, I have plenty of justification to be extra wary of my big brother. I catch sight of him just before he spots me, at which point he is like, "Scott!," and comes right at me. "Fool me thrice, shame on me!," I say before I do a one-eighty and run up the stairs.

"What? No, Scott, wait!"

It's too late. For him, that is. I dive into my fortress of solitude and shut the door before he can catch me. Yes, by fortress of solitude I mean my room. Anyway, half hour goes by, call for breakfast sounds, and I have no choice but to leave my sanctum.

Now, I think I've mentioned the rules at the table back in the day. Us kids were not allowed to talk, no matter how developed we were. And so, while the parental figures are chatting away about last night's news and the cost of life, Rob is fixing real intent eyes on me, like he's bursting to the seams to tell me something. Me, I ignore him for the most part and try not to meet his eyes, though if I may be honest I fail a few times.

Breakfast's over, and the 'Cat & Mouse' begins. He's big, I'm scrawny and small and can fit into places he can't. As I labor to stay out of his sight, I'm getting more and more afraid of him finding me, reaching into my hidey-hole and dragging me to some sort of suffering he's got in stock of me.

Gutter, washer machine, dryer, in the car, under the car, I try every hole I know of and some new ones. Rob, wily bastard he's always been, moves almost as fast as I do, and at the same time manages to position himself between me and my sanctum upstairs. I'm running out of options. I can't leave the house, and if I go to the family room he'll snatch me for sure.

Suddenly, lightbulb! The treehouse is close enough for me to make it before Rob catches me. Reeling the rope ladder up might be cutting it close, but I have to try.

And so I sprint! I sprint with every shred of might left in my short bony legs. Sure enough, soon I hear him coming, just as I go up the ladder like a squirrel before the dog. The ladder comes up, and I see him grinding to a halt. Then, after looking me in the eye, he retreats.

Five, ten minutes go by. I am starting to seriously consider staying here forever. And then I hear him bellow "SCOTT!"

I'm safe up here. He can't come get me. I hold all the cards. And so, somewhat emboldened by my tactical advantage, I peer out. He's holding something up for me to see. As the one tasked with fetching it every morning, I easily recognize it as today's newspaper.

I nod, giving him a wary look. He nods back, brings out a big black marker, draws a circle somewhere top and center on the paper. Rolls it up, holds up a small slip of paper, sets it on the rolled up paper. Then, he bundles it all up with some string, and flings the whole thing right through my doorway.

I'm in a corner, hugging my legs. For all I know the thing could be holding a lit firework that's gonna do a loud pop and make me soil myself. Now, I know what you're thinking. I did see him put the bundle together with my own eyes. Stands to reason that I would'a seen the firework if he'd snuck it in. But that's what happens when you're used to seeing your trust broken: can't help but have misgivings all the time.

To my surprise, nothing happens. The bundle is sitting there, all nice and cozy, about a feet from me. So I poke it: nothing. Finally, I reach out, grab the slip and read it. I poke my head out the window and open my mouth to chastise him for toying with me like that, when I see him gesturing wildly. Newspaper, look.

So I do. The portion he has circled happens to be the date. Big whoop. Then I look again. It takes me another two or three looks before it finally dawns on me that today might not be the day I thought it was. Which is not exactly rare: as I told you before, dates have always been a problem for me.

I look down at your uncle, who's been following my moves from below. He's staring me in the eye, dead serious. He nods at me, slowly. And then, he goes and does something I had never in my life seen him do: he crosses his heart with his right hand, and holds up three fingers with his left. You know how seriously your Uncle takes his scout's honor, don't you? So did I, even then.

Long story short: on that particular occasion, your uncle was not trying to prank me. Quite the contrary: thanks to the intel he somehow had gathered and which he then passed on to me, I got to spend a lovely afternoon hunting eggs with the girl of my dreams. If it hadn't been for him, well... I probably wouldn't have actually met your mother.

Rob did get a beating for defacing dad's newspaper. But don't be too sad: the all-you-can-eat card for Sandy's Subs he'd given me the day before, that turned out to be the actual prank. The bastard mocked my disappointment for weeks after that.