Rules

Rules; every family has them. Every family has a certain set of guidelines that turn into the rules of the family. I grew up with such rules, but there were not many. Actually, there was only one that really mattered. Rule number one was don’t hit your brother. This rule was really the only one that got you in any kind of trouble. We could pretty much do anything else, short of burning down the house, but if one of us hit another, we were in some shit. Yes, the rule is don’t hit your brother. Yes, we do have a sister. Skipper (dad) did not need to make the rule say, don’t hit your brother or your sister. The reason for her exclusion was simply that none of us were brave enough to even think about hitting her. She’d kick our ass with one hand tied behind her back, and the other hand holding a cigarette. She was a bad ass.

A distant second on the rule list was, don’t play ball in the house. This rule was rarely enforced. We figured out pretty early that what this rule actually meant was; don’t break anything while playing ball in the house. You were not going to get in trouble for having a football catch between the kitchen and the living room, as long as you were catching the ball. So you had to be smart about whom you were playing catch with. If Kevin and I were having a catch, things were fine. We could put the ball over the table but under the light, and still catch it. This could go on for a good bit, and be damage free. Now, if Bill was on the other end of that catch, you had to be prepared to hide and finger point. Cause there was definitely going to be a broken picture frame or something. We kids had our own rule when it pertained to playing ball in the house. If Bill and I were responsible for the broken picture frame (really it was Bill, I have great hands.), we would not throw each other under the bus. No, we would blame a third party. “I don’t know what happened mom, we saw Dan in there earlier.”

The only other rule that I can truly remember being enforced was the 10:00 rule. Skipper was adamant about this one too. The phone in our house was absolutely not allowed to ring after 10:00 PM. Skipper worked his ass off, and we he went to bed, he wanted to sleep. We all had our girlfriends, and Sharon had boyfriends, and talking on the phone was common. If one of our friends or girlfriends called after 10, it was over. My dad used to say, “If you don’t tell them to call you earlier, then I will.” Trust me, you didn’t want that. I’ve seen him do it, and that girl would never call back. So again, we siblings developed our own rule. It was an unwritten rule, but we all had each other’s back on this one. If that phone rang after 10, you had to do whatever was necessary to beat dad to the phone. Even if you knew it was not for you, you were protecting some body else. If you were in the bathroom, naked, you had to get there. We became phone answering ninja’s. We could hear the phone from the shower, and before the second ring, have it answered. Once we were all trained, the phone would be answered on a half ring. To this day, I won’t call my parents house past 10:00. You know what else, I hate when my phone rings after 10:00.