Professional Wrestling, or family videos?

I can't remember how it came to fruition, but by the time I was 6 years old I had arguably become the greatest fan of (at the time) WWF Wrestling there ever was!  If my parents could afford every action figure, toy, card game, Pay Per View event, live event, I would HAVE IT ALL.

I often fantasized about being a WWF wrestler, I started doing push ups, sit-ups and squats in hopes that I would one day grow to have steroid induced shoulders like the ultimate warrior!

Sadly it never happened, but you should see my ass now, it's quite amazing.

The biggest problem with it all is once my dad found out that I was watching WWF wrestling, he immediately banned me from watching it. It's too violent.  I was so enamored with professional wrestling, I wouldn't give up on it so easily.  My dad knew when it was on, and he would check up on me to see if I'm watching it.
There was no escape, nor was there limits to my perseverance. 

In a world where internet wasn't even a thought process yet, I managed to figure out on my own how to setup a timed VHS recording for WWF, which I would later watch when my dad would be expecting me to watch morning cartoons.

The plan worked, for months my dad had no idea I was watching professional wrestling.  I had taken a used VHS tape of old family videos, when the tape ran out I would start from the beginning, and continue to record over it. 

I was on top of the world, I fooled my parents yet again, I can do what I want, nobody can stop me!!!

Until one day, my parents had some friends over who they hadn't seen in some time.  My dad wanted to share a precious family moment with them.  He walked over to the shelf with all the family VHS tapes and grabbed the one labeled "Annie's first steps".   I was excited to see the video too, I haven't seen this one yet!  As he grabbed it off the shelf my stomach sank.  I recognized it, because out of all the VHS tapes it was the one I recognize the most. It was the one I recorded WWF maple leaf wrestling on OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER again.

If there was ever a time I thought about running out the front door and into head on traffic, it was right at this moment. Do I hide in my room? Do I hide behind the couch? Do I hide under the bed? Do I try to convince them to watch another family tape?  I don't.  I sit there and pretend like I know nothing.  Anyone could have recorded WWF wrestling, it could have been my Mom, or my older brother for all my father knows.  I just need to not look guilty right?

My dad sticks the VHS in, and immediately Hulk Hogan is yelling about how he's going to take Andre The Giant out at the next pay per view BROTHEERRR!!!

Don't look guilty.

Don't look guilty.

Don't look guilty.

My dad looks directly at me.
I looked guilty.

There was a lot of times my dad yelled at me, but I think this particular time was the loudest.  I still picture him with red eyes and a city burning behind him, that's how angry he looked.  The only thing stopping him from strangling me I'm sure, was the fact that they had friends over.

My dad promised me that we would talk about this later. Something definitely happened after our guests had left, but I don't remember very much talking.

You'd think that would be enough to turn me off from wrestling, but it wasn't.

I simply waited until the next time my dad purchased empty tapes, and I took one for my own.

In the end I had my way, I always had my way.

The suitcase trick

I've always been a poor sport, losing was never my thing. Being constantly in competition with my older brother, I always had to be on the winning side of a face-off.  If I lost, I would throw a temper tantrum, or call him names.  Cheater, asshole, idiot, etc.  It was his fault somehow if he won, I'm supposed to win!

For as long as I can remember we always competed on things like:

• Who can hold their head under the water the longest. - This one particularly got to me the most, I swear my older brother would slowly pull his head out of the water so I wouldn't hear him come up, and then dive back in slowly to get an extra breath on me.  
• Short distance running competitions.  - He always ran faster than me, so I always had an excuse for my loss.  Like "I sprained my ankle on a rock", or "my knees randomly buckled".  Sometimes I'd even walk around "injured" for days just to play it up.
• Handball - Dad bought us two kid size hockey goalie nets and a rubber ball to throw across the room. This was a game we were equally good at.  I legitimately won at least half the time,  When I didn't win, I caused a scene.  There was always a reason why I lost. My brother's pants or socks were too thick, or he only won because he's a head taller than myself.  It was never because I sucked, and always because he had some kind of unfair advantage on me.

One day I decided, instead of holding our breath under water, we would take turns zipping each other up in a large suitcase.   As soon as you beg to come out because you're about to pass out from a lack of oxygen, you stop the timer, and then let the other person out. Finally something he can't cheat at!

I'm ashamed to say, this did not go as planned.  I thought it would be funny to just walk away and go watch some TV.  I figured there must be enough oxygen seeping through the zipper holes that he'd be in there for hours. Now on second thought, this would just be a stupid boring competition that he'll win because I wouldn't have the patience to just lay there for hours, but he would.

Off I went to watch some Saturday morning cartoons. I have no idea how much time passed, enough for me to completely forget about him when he finally came up the stairs.

I was shocked to see him standing before my eyes, I thought that suitcase was impossible to get out of without assistance. 

"How did you get out of there on your own?" - I asked.

Adrian, very calmly persuaded me that it was nothing really, and that it was now my turn.

There was an eerie tone to his voice and sinister look on his face, but I thought nothing of it.  If he could get out of the suitcase, so could I!  After all, I'm better at everything than him, why should I be worried?

I followed him downstairs and curled my body into the suitcase.  After being zipped up it was maybe 30 seconds before I couldn't breath.  I was hyperventilating, begging, screaming for my brother to let me out.  I felt like I was about to pass out, I wanted to figure out how to unzip the suitcase from the inside, but I couldn't think, I was panic stricken, I couldn't move.  All I could do is scream and beg and plead like a mouse caught in a trap half dead, begging for their life to be ended or saved. One of the two has to happen NOW because this limbo phase between life and death is just unbearable. 

Fortunately, Adrian didn't run upstairs to watch TV, instead he let me out a few seconds into my panic.

He could have left me for dead if he wanted, but he didn't.  

You'd think I'd be grateful for that, especially considering I basically left him for dead in retrospect. Now experiencing what he must have went through, I still wasn't grateful, I was ANGRY.  

Why was I angry?

He won, but only because he must have sneaked an oxygen tank in when I wasn't looking.  It's the only explanation!

I want candy!!!!

Much like any six year old on this planet, once I tasted the sweet nectar of the gods on the tip of my tongue, I was hooked forever.  Don't worry, despite the name of the blog this isn't about my parents feeding me alcohol at the age of 6.  I'm talking about sweet sweet candy.  I was obsessed.  I would search the couch cushions every time my parents had a visitor leave.  There was always change, and one cent gummy bear candies were just three blocks and a road crossing away.

I never understood why I had to ask to go to the candy store if I had the money.  I came back alive every time I was granted permission. Therefore, when the permission wasn't granted I did what I knew how to do best.
Annoy the crap out of my dad.
Hi Dad, it's me again, wanting candy!

On this particular day my Dad was working on the car with his friend.
My Dad was always working on the car with his friend.  Replacing batteries, cleaning carburetors, rebuilding engines, replacing transmissions, fuel pumps, clutches, you name it!
Dad must have really liked working on cars, because he would never purchase a vehicle unless at least one of the doors was rusting off and the exhaust was spitting fire.
 Dad was under the car breathing heavily, I figured what better time to approach the old man!

I jumped on my bike and started doing circles in the driveway. Five minutes later I realized I was salivating, partly because it was hot outside, but MOSTLY because I couldn't stop thinking about the candy, it was so close, but so far away.  Maybe if I ask again!

At this point he was talking with his friend.  Something about government this, and lack of that.

What I did next doesn't translate very well from our language, so I'll briefly explain.
In our native tongue fuck off can also affectionately mean "get out of here".

So I took that as permission to go get myself some candy.
I remember thinking to myself "I'm so damn smart, I convinced my dad to let me get candy, this is going to be great!!"
I could already picture myself ripping the heads off those gummy bears with my teeth, and pretending I'm some giant T-REX that has come to vanquish them with my salivating T-REX mouth and stubby little  hands.

I depart on my bike, it's the quickest getaway before my dad might change his mind.
I get to the road crossing, where I always felt invisible.  I swear I could stand at this road crossing for ten minutes and nobody would stop for me.
One day I realized that if you time it right, drivers are forced to stop. They can and will stop before hitting you.
They don't want to hit you and go to jail.
This was my sound theory.
A lot of the time I heard screeching tires, sometimes cars rear ended each other, but at the end of the day, not my problem. They hit me it's on them.

How I've made it into my adult years with that kind of logical thinking, I have no clue to this day.

At any rate, I purchase my bag of gummy bears, almost get hit by a car at the cross walk on the way back, and make it safely home where my dad is waiting with his arms crossed.

At that point, I don't know if it was the swearing, or the misinterpretation, but my dad let me have it real good.  Open palm, right on the ass until it was numb.

I no longer had an issue interpreting what fuck off meant.

Was it worth it?  Hell yeah.  In fact, now that I'm an adult I'm going to ask myself RIGHT NOW if I can go get some gummy bear candies. Spoiler alert, I'm going to say YES!