Many only-children are brats because they do not have a sibling rival to balance out their youth. However, not having siblings did nothing to stop me from having my own personal rival. A rival of the worst kind: one with authority. My father was responsible for all the teasing, all the closet locking...all my childhood angst. And I still turned out to be a brat.

Most of the conflicts between my father and I were settled by truce once we inflicted enough eye-for-eye pain.

Except one.

Mini Recliner

The crowning glory of our family room was a plush, reclinable Lazy Boy chair taking up the best viewing spot of the room. This was “Dad’s Chair”. Pfft. Yeah, right.

During one particular slumber party, I was busy establishing my role as Princess Boss-of-everyone (as only an only-child can do), and while doing so I sat upon my throne of envy, otherwise known as “Dad’s Chair”.

In walks my father. He dares to tell me, the Princess, to “Get out of my chair”.

I, of course, politely refuse.

He gives me one last warning, “Get your ass out of my chair before I bruise it”.

Ha, as if!

Once my father realized he was getting nowhere due to my faithful audience, he simply marched over, lifted me out of his chair with ease, and dropped my on my royal behind.

He DE-THRONED me!

This was not good for my image. My court of slumber party attendees looked unsure about my ability to rule them. I felt heat rising from my toes, into my chest, then flush up my face. But I would not cry. Nope, I’d get even.

I herded my posse into the playroom and planned a quick retaliation. My eyes settled on a knitting set that my father’s own grandmother had left me when she died. How fitting. I grabbed a needle, a really long, thin needle used for beading.

When my dad got up to get a drink, I quickly went to “Dad’s Chair”, threaded the needle through the fabric so it would stand upright. Then snuck back into my hiding spot to wait.

My plan couldn’t have worked better. Dad came back down, distracted by juggling his beer and talking on the phone.

He sat right down on that needle.

We heard a god-awful yelp.

Then, he leapt up, inspected his chair and we heard “God D@mmit, JESSICA!”

All he heard in response was five little girls giggling.

We were smart for our age, though. We ran. And ran. And ran some more.

In fact, I left the house for hours. My mother didn’t even look for me. To this day she says she’s thankful I stayed away so long. “By god, Jessica, that man loved you. But he would have killed you.”

*smirk*