Wicked Kids

            Whether you can believe it or not, my brother Ken, my sister Kathy, and I were not always angels when we were children. If our poor mother Sybil Miner Beck was alive, she’d confirm it. We were listening to music on an old tape recorder and got tired of hearing the same songs over and over. Out of boredom and because it was one of those bulky reel to reel tape recorders, we devised a plan. I’m not sure if it was me who suggested it, but all three of us liked the idea.

            We were upstairs bedroom, turning the volume of the recorder low. Using a blank tape, one of us said, “Mom!” After a few seconds of silence, we said, “Mom!” again a little louder. After a third pause in a bit louder, we said, “MOM!”

Our plan was almost ready. After rewinding the tape, we put the recorder at top of the steps. Everything was in place except us kids. We knew Mom was around the corner in the kitchen. Turning the recorder button to maximum volume and hitting play, we hustled down the stairs into the living room and hid in the corner beside the couch. We had a good view of the doorway where we could see and hear what was happening.

The familiar voice of our recording floated down from its ceiling high nest, “Mom!”

From the kitchen Mom replied, “What?”

We chuckled. Our warped plan was starting out well.

After several seconds, the voice from above called out again, but a bit louder, “Mom!”

“What do you kids want?”  She replied with an edge of irritation in her reply.

Again, we didn’t answer. After another pause, a loud voice called, “MOM!”

We could hear Mom lay aside whatever utensil she had been using. Anger sounded in her approaching footsteps as she stormed to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, she yelled. “I’m not answering you kids again. What do you want?”

From behind her she heard the muffled snickers and suppressed laughter. Spinning around, she said, “I’m busy. Unless you want me to find something for you to do, you need to disappear.” You’d have thought we were from the spirit world we vanished so quickly.

She wasn’t in the best mood the rest of the day.

Another day we must have been a constant irritant asking Mom to do one thing or another. She finally said, “Mom, mom, mom. That’s all I hear. I wish my name was mud!” and being the obliging and loving children that we were, we called her “mud” for the rest of the day when we wanted her.
Wicked Kids
    Whether you can believe it or not, my brother Ken, my sister Kathy, and I were not always angels when we were children. If our poor mother Sybil Miner Beck was alive, she’d confirm it. We were listening to music on an old tape recorder and got tired of hearing the same songs over and over. Out of boredom and because it was one of those bulky reel to reel tape recorders, we devised a plan. I’m not sure if it was me who suggested it, but all three of us liked the idea.
    We were upstairs bedroom, turning the volume of the recorder low. Using a blank tape, one of us said, “Mom!” After a few seconds of silence, we said, “Mom!” again a little louder. After a third pause in a bit louder, we said, “MOM!”
Our plan was almost ready. After rewinding the tape, we put the recorder at top of the steps. Everything was in place except us kids. We knew Mom was around the corner in the kitchen. Turning the recorder button to maximum volume and hitting play, we hustled down the stairs into the living room and hid in the corner beside the couch. We had a good view of the doorway where we could see and hear what was happening.
The familiar voice of our recording floated down from its ceiling high nest, “Mom!”
From the kitchen Mom replied, “What?”
We chuckled. Our warped plan was starting out well.
After several seconds, the voice from above called out again, but a bit louder, “Mom!”
“What do you kids want?”  She replied with an edge of irritation in her reply.
Again, we didn’t answer. After another pause, a loud voice called, “MOM!”
We could hear Mom lay aside whatever utensil she had been using. Anger sounded in her approaching footsteps as she stormed to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, she yelled. “I’m not answering you kids again. What do you want?”
From behind her she heard the muffled snickers and suppressed laughter. Spinning around, she said, “I’m busy. Unless you want me to find something for you to do, you need to disappear.” You’d have thought we were from the spirit world we vanished so quickly.
She wasn’t in the best mood the rest of the day.
Another day we must have been a constant irritant asking Mom to do one thing or another. She finally said, “Mom, mom, mom. That’s all I hear. I wish my name was mud!” and being the obliging and loving children that we were, we called her “mud” for the rest of the day when we wanted her.