What is your crazy "get in trouble as a kid" story?

[MNDude]

Almost everyone has a story of something where did something so dumb and crazy as a kid that their parents ground them for a long time. Rode the family horse to town? Let a homeless guy sleep over in your parents bed while they were out of town? What is your story that you're lucky to be alive after your parents found out?

[KC Burke]

My buddy and I were 14 years old...

Nine cases of dynamite…
Six cases of blasting caps…
Wire, plunger generator…

When the city found out they were gone, they thought it was the mafia.

Dad said, son you’re going to jail.

We didn’t.

We went and showed them where we hid them. They had been looking for a week and they never had moved more than 400 yards but we had hid them very well.

Initially we did an experiment with a large old overstuffed chair trying to send it to heaven — but that is a longer story.

The sixties were grand.

[norwaypinesavage]

I’d tell you, but I’m not sure what the statute of limitations is involving Jet Assist Takeoff Rockets.

[Darksheare]

Only time I got to mess with blasting caps, I was handing them to the blaster and some genius keyed his radio next to me.
They didn’t go off, but for about a four beat my heart sat still as Iscanned all incoming stimuli for “boom”.

[Darksheare]

I might have to do that.

[M Kehoe]

For some reason when I was 6 yrs old, me and an accomplice tried to burn down the Clewiston Inn. We ran, and I ended up atop the town's water tower.

Dad wore me out.

5.56mm

[Vendome]

I’m not telling.

What’d you hear?

[Vendome]

LOL!!!

You did!!! I found her....

[Texas Songwriter]

I was enthralled by fire. I started many fires next to my neighbors house, in their garage, in a flannel T-Pee rigged in my neighbors garage. My Dad caught me and tanned my hide, multiple times. It was a phase which took about 6 beatings to get my mind right.

[rlmorel]

Hahaha...I love threads like this! When I was a Navy Brat living in Yokosuka, Japan, I used to go down to the little commissary they had within the walls of the base hospital, which were perhaps 8-9 feet high and made of concrete. I was maybe eight or nine at the time.

Every day I would go in and steal a candy bar or something like that. One day after I put a candy bar in my pocket and turned to walk out, the Japanese guy who ran the store was standing in front of me. "Give me the candy bar in your pocket" he said. I mumbled something about not having a candy bar, and he interrupted me: "I watch you every day. You come in here every day and steal something. I have had enough. I am calling the Shore Patrol." He grabbed me by my shirt, and hustled me into tiny office at the back of the store. As he shoved me through the door, he steered me into a little stool in a corner. He pushed me onto the stool, stood in front of me, and picked up the phone and began dialing, the black military issue phone making that funny clicking nose that rotary dials of that day made. I grabbed the phone out of his hand and hung it up. I was desperate. I had been really, REALLY stupid, and arrogant to boot. Now, I was screwed. My dad was in charge of base security at the time. I could not in a million years imagine what I had in store for me if they marched me in front of my Dad. I had to find a way out of this. He picked the phone up again, and began dialing with that same hand while pushing me onto the stool with the other hand. I bolted between his legs. No kidding. I really, honest to goodness did. As I did, he knocked my USMC fatigue cap, which was my prized possession. He also knocked off my battered BCD glasses. But I ran anyway. I ran all the way home, went into my room and cowered below the window, peeking out and expecting to see the Shore Patrol coming up the street. Well, they never came. I told my mom I fell off of some rocks near the ocean and lost my glasses. She let out an exasperated sigh. Glasses again. I broke so many glasses and had them constantly taped together that my suffering parents refused to buy me another pair one time. I had been running like hell, and my glasses flew off of my face and landed in the sidewalk directly in front of me...glasses facing down, unfolded ear pieces point straight up in parallel. My flying foot planted squarely between the upraised ear pieces and I ground the lens of the right lens into the concrete. when I put them on, it was like looking through frosted glass. My parents said I was just going to have to wait to get a new pair. I ended up smearing vegetable oil on the lens, and I could see, in a fashion, through the lens. Anyway, I avoided that little commissary for about a year, giving it a wide berth, and being terrified anytime I had to go within fifty yards of the place, even if there was a eight foot high wall between it and me. As time went by, my memory became foggier, and eventually I forgot all about it. Then, one day as I walked down the road directly on the other side of the little store with that big concrete wall shielding it from my view, I suddenly became aware there was a slow moving vehicle on the road right beside me keeping pace. It was one of those dinky little three wheel vehicles the Japanese were so fond of, and to my horror, I saw that the driver was the Japanese guy who ran the store. I gaped at him, and he seemed to me a human incarnation of a mamushi snake, and me, a defenseless, motionless white rat. He hissed at me: "If you want your glasses back, you have to send your father down to get them." Then he pulled away and disappeared. My arms hung limply at my side, my mouth open. I ran all the way home again. But I never told my parents, even years later. Funny. That guy did me a lot of good, and out of fear, scared me off of being a casual, habitual, shoplifter.

[jy8z]

My older brother made me mad one day so I loosened the nuts that held the front tire of his bicycle on. I then challenged him to a wheelie contest on the newly paved road in front of our house. Needless to say when he popped a wheelie his front tire came off. When the bike came down it threw him over the handle bars, skidding down the road. Well the road rash messed him up really bad. What I didn’t know at the time was my younger brother saw me loosening those nuts on his bike and told our mother. I had to pick out my own switch from the tree out back twice. Once for my mother and then again when my dad got home. I stood up for about a week before taking a seat again.

[rlmorel]

OMG...I have to repost that! I accidentally hit post before cleaning it up with HTML. And I have to shrink that picture, darn it. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Hahaha...I love threads like this!

When I was a Navy Brat living in Yokosuka, Japan, I used to go down to the little commissary they had within the walls of the base hospital, which were perhaps 8-9 feet high and made of concrete. I was maybe eight or nine at the time.

Every day I would go in and steal a candy bar or something like that. One day after I put a candy bar in my pocket and turned to walk out, the Japanese guy who ran the store was standing in front of me. "Give me the candy bar in your pocket" he said. I mumbled something about not having a candy bar, and he interrupted me: "I watch you every day. You come in here every day and steal something. I have had enough. I am calling the Shore Patrol."

He grabbed me by my shirt, and hustled me into tiny office at the back of the store. As he shoved me through the door, he steered me into a little stool in a corner. He pushed me onto the stool, stood in front of me, and picked up the phone and began dialing, the black military issue phone making that funny clicking nose that rotary dials of that day made.

I grabbed the phone out of his hand and hung it up.

I was desperate. I had been really, REALLY stupid, and arrogant to boot. Now, I was screwed. My dad was in charge of base security at the time. I could not in a million years imagine what I had in store for me if they marched me in front of my Dad. I had to find a way out of this.

He picked the phone up again, and began dialing with that same hand while pushing me onto the stool with the other hand.

I bolted between his legs. No kidding. I really, honest to goodness did.

As I did, he knocked my USMC fatigue cap, which was my prized possession. He also knocked off my battered BCD glasses. But I ran anyway.

I ran all the way home, went into my room and cowered below the window, peeking out and expecting to see the Shore Patrol coming up the street.

Well, they never came. I told my mom I fell off of some rocks near the ocean and lost my glasses. She let out an exasperated sigh. Glasses again. I broke so many glasses and had them constantly taped together that my suffering parents refused to buy me another pair one time. I had been running like hell, and my glasses flew off of my face and landed in the sidewalk directly in front of me...glasses facing down, unfolded ear pieces point straight up in parallel. My flying foot planted squarely between the upraised ear pieces and I ground the lens of the right lens into the concrete. when I put them on, it was like looking through frosted glass. My parents said I was just going to have to wait to get a new pair.

I ended up smearing vegetable oil on the lens, and I could see, in a fashion, through the lens.

Anyway, I avoided that little commissary for about a year, giving it a wide berth, and being terrified anytime I had to go within fifty yards of the place, even if there was a eight foot high wall between it and me. As time went by, my memory became foggier, and eventually I forgot all about it.

Then, one day as I walked down the road directly on the other side of the little store with that big concrete wall shielding it from my view, I suddenly became aware there was a slow moving vehicle on the road right beside me keeping pace.

It was one of those dinky little three wheel vehicles the Japanese were so fond of, and to my horror, I saw that the driver was the Japanese guy who ran the store.

I gaped at him, and he seemed to me a human incarnation of a mamushi snake, and me, a defenseless, motionless white rat.

He hissed at me: "If you want your glasses back, you have to send your father down to get them." Then he pulled away and disappeared. My arms hung limply at my side, my mouth open.

I ran all the way home again. But I never told my parents, even years later. Funny. That guy did me a lot of good, and out of fear, scared me off of being a casual, habitual, shoplifter.

[Eddie01]

Was watching my cousin (I’m 15, he’s 12). Met two buddys of mine and we headed off to scale the AC vents by the tennis courts and proceeded up a series of ladders to the 3rd story roof of my high school.

We were lighting firecrackers and throwing them down over the front of the school. After a while, cop car drove up. We freaked and headed down the ladders back to the vents. The cops were walking away with our 10 speeds. Seems the school was surrounded.

Three of us climbed back down the vents where we were questioned by the cops, wanted to know who we were. (my other friend shimmied down a drain pipe by the pool and made it half way across the football field before they caught up with him). Anyway my cousin and I colluded with my other friend telling the cops we were all brothers using my friends last name. They let my friend take his bike home and drove the rest of us to his house. My friend tells his mom what’s going on and she walks out on the porch and announces to the cops, “are my boys in it again!?”. Cop says, “’fraid so mam”.

Now the kid who struck out on his own, waited in the cop car while this was playing out at my friends house. The cops drove him to his house a couple blocks away after letting us out. We found out his dad answered the door and he got and ass whoopin’.

My cousin and I walked away laughing.

[Vendome]

My brother, when he was 15, was about to get some strapping from my Mom. For what I don’t recall.But, he turns to my Mom and says “Wait. I wunnuh tell you something first”.My Mom says “What?”“Well, it could be worse” he said.“How?” she asked.“Well, I’m only a fifteen year old boy and we should thank God I’m not pregnant”. He wily says with a smart alec grin.That was it!!! We were all laughing so hard it sounded like a bunch a lil girls and it was tough catching our breath.My Mom is laughing one of those laughs were you can’t make any noise and she loses all muscle control on the paddle and ends up dropping it.That only made things worse.Well, after we all quite making stupid faces trying not to laugh, she tells him to sit at the dinner table and not say a word.So we’re all looming at each other trying not to laugh and he is looking at everyineand trying not to laugh.My Mom is trying not to laugh and still be the boss. She says tells”You better not crack any jokes or say a word. Just eat”.She sounds dummy serious and we’re all grinning.Well, it’s Sunday dinner. Fried chicken, potatoes and gravy, Okra.My brother looks up at me for support in keeping him from laughing .Ain’t happening. I lock my eyes on him and flash a big smile. Mom says says”don’t!”My brother does all he can but the laugh starts to come and he ends up blowing his nose/brains all over his dinner. (there was ton of stuff that might have brain matter, I dunno).My Mom gets up and grabs his plate. He grabs it too and grabs”No” like some girl and my Mom(a girl) also high pitched says “yes”.My brother says again like a little girl also”No”.My Mom is trying desperately not to laugh and wrests the plate away. She then proceeded to dump the whole thing on top of his head.OMG!!! We all lost it and my Mom is trying to restore order tells everyone “Just Eat!”.I have no idea what voice that was but, we all lostiIit again and just laughed.Laughed at Mom for laughing and not being the boss(not her fault...really) and looming at my idiot brother with a plate full of chicken, mashed potato&gravy, Okra and maybe 1/2 his brains or not all over him.Gawd, if you weren’t there....Well, probably the only way that whole scene is funny or if I tell it in person.

[Texas Songwriter]

I will tell you a story. When I was about 8 years old we went to my grandfathers ranch. I had a BB gun and hunted birds (Il would not kill one now for $1,000). I really felt like a real hunter. I tried to carry a 22 bullet in my pocket, just to make me feel like a hunter. While hunting I decided I wanted to see what gun powder looked like. So, I sit off the let at the brass with my pocket knife. So there was still lead in the brass. How to get it out….How to get it out? So I dug with the point of the knife, but that did not work. So, I though if I bent the brass it might let me dig out the lead. So I started beating on the brass as I held it against a post. Now a 22 is a rim fire, not a primer round. As I hit it , again and again it discharged in my hand. I still have powder tattooing in my left hand. Luckily the bullet did not hit me, but it could have killed me. I have never spoken of this until now. I did not tell my Dad or brother or wife. I do not know why I tell you now, but I feel better that I did.

[tiki]

My husband’s family was cleaning out an old shed and his aunt not knowing what they were, handed him a box of blasting caps to throw in the burning trash. It blew up the 55 Gallon barrel and all that was left were the top and bottom rings. He was full of shrapnel and most of his hair was burned off. He was very lucky.

[daniel1212]

There is usually a “Eddie Haskell” kid that gets the “good kid” in trouble, or at least lets us blame him for it.

Well, the neighborhood “Eddie Haskell” was actually named Dennis, who would soon by the local hot rod kid swapping out 283’s for a larger engine (circa 167).

Well, I (the “good kid”) was kind of making gun powder downstairs. My sister worked at the local drug store, and I would have her pick up Salt Peter (for that sick cow you know), and mix it with some ground up charcoal from briquets, and add a little powdered sulfur my dad had found (but did not know what Danny was using it for.)

I could never get it to explode, but it would burn up in a bottle pretty good.

Well one day Dennis had come in the cellar door, as I was not supposed to hang with him, and i swept up the mixture into a pile on the work bench in the cellar, and

He saw this pile of gun powder mixture and asked me, “What would happen if I put a match to it? Of course, true to form, by the time he finished the question then he had the match as i said “Dennis, “DON’T!?”

Up went this flaming smoking mixture - and a Voice from directly upstairs in the kitchen - my Mom asking, “Danny what are you doing down there?,” while i urgently told Dennis “Get out the door!?

There was no real danger of fire as i put it out quick, but it would not be years until i told my mom and the family what i really was doing down there.

Then there the telephone system btwn three houses in my neighborhood, using about 1,000 feet of telephone wire my older brother collected, as he had asked the lineman when they were replacing it and they gave it too him. Again, around the mid 1960’s/

I used a AC transformer to make a buz into the receiver, and a 6V DC battery to talk. We thought it was neat.

Then there was the “fort” we built using lumber we floated (well, my friend who could swim well) down the river for about a mile, loaded it into a cart to the place we built it.

It was 2 stories, was insulated, and we got a pot bellied stove. I stoked it up one day left for a bit, and rumor has it another kid, whom we would not let in, used it to burnt it down.

The fire truck came and they tried to pull the posts down so we would not rebuild it. But they soon realized that the posts were actually trees.

Then (getting a little older), there was the time i sunk my dad’s work car in the lagoon at the local golf course, and revives it after its “baptism” to run another 20,00 miles or so. I did smell like a swamp for a while though and broke the radio (but foxed the windshield wipers). More details if you want.

I am not proud of all of the stuff i did, and after i become a real born again Christian i paid the owner of the wood i made the fort from (i did not mention it was stolen) and things like that.

,

[warsaw44]

Oh, man - thank you! I needed a laugh, that sounds like something I would have pulled.

[Harmless Teddy Bear]

I swear it was a rogue lightening strike that set the momone tree on fire.

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

[M Kehoe]

...but I feel better that I did.

Good, glad I could help out.

8^)

5.56mm

[HANG THE EXPENSE]

Did burn outs in front of the police station in college park ga on my first leave.But for the fact the police Lt grew up with my dad I would have spent that leave in the pokey.It was funny to see such beautiful posi trac black marks in front of the station though.