The Day I Tried to Kill my Brother!

I was in the 2nd grade, living on the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs when one horrible Sunday I tried to kill my little brother, Matthew.  My family was getting ready to go to church and my brother and I were already dressed, just waiting for the rest of the family.

Matthew, who was 3 years younger than I, did something to make me really mad. I don’t even remember what it was – maybe Matthew does but I doubt it – as that wouldn’t be the most eventful thing that happened that day.  After Matthew did whatever it was he did to make me mad at him, I decided I was going to pull a big sharp knife out of the kitchen drawer and chase him around the house until I hurt him!

Matthew - Can you imagine this sweet little thing making me mad?

Well, we had these wooden floors all throughout our house and Matthew started running away from me screaming bloody murder and I was screaming too – “I’m going to kill you Matthew!”- packing the long sharp kitchen knife my mother normally cut roast beef with.  Everything was happening so fast with Matthew screaming, running around in his socks.  Well he was running down the hall with me chasing after him and all the sudden Matthew slipped on the slippery wood floor and went head first into the sharp corner of where 2 walls met.  All I could see was blood squirting from Matthews head and then him falling down to the ground, head first.  I still remember the way Matthew tumbled to the floor (and it is slow motion in my head even today).  I stopped dead in my tracks, still holding the huge knife in my hand.

I thought Matthew must be dead already, with so much blood everywhere.  All of the sudden my mom came running to see what happened and she screamed “Don, it’s Matthew – it’s Matthew – he’s bleeding!”  (Don is my father.)  It was just a horrible scene, horrible.  I immediately thought I was either going to jail or my parents would hate me forever – I truly didn’t know which was worse.

Needless to say, Matthew had to go to the hospital that day.  Fortunately Matthew didn’t die that day and he only had to get stitches on his forehead.  I got a few belt slaps to my little bottom and the only thing good about that day was that we didn’t have to go to church!

Matthew Reaves - Summer 2011

I’m still reminded about what I did every time I look at my brother.  Even now at 50 – he still has a scar on his forehead – scars from that wild Sunday on the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs!


About Caroline

Daughter, Sister, Mom... I think the best thing I've done is to be a mom, to give my kids my love but not my thoughts and to listen, observe, offer advice when needed.
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5 Responses to The Day I Tried to Kill my Brother!

  1. Bonnie says:

    Quite an event in our family, was that. (Sorry, I’m reading Russell Brand’s autobiography and he writes with quite the English accent.) Being the eldest child, 3 years older than Caroline, I remember this quite well. I remember seeing Matthew charge into that corner. He was wearing a white button-up shirt and blood was all over it. The most vivid memory I have is of all the blood on that white shirt. And then when he got home he had to be monitored in case he had a concussion. You can almost see the scar on his forehead in the above picture.
    Thank God Caroline’s abhorrent behavior didn’t ruin Matthew’s good looks!


  2. Caroline says:

    I forgot about having to monitor him. Oh jeesh…I feel even worse now!


  3. Mom says:

    I remember it well. Love it Carolina.



    • Carol Reaves says:

      If I may, I would like to add a brother-sister memory from my childhood. I supposed you could say it was the day my brother tried to kill me. My maternal grandmother, Grandma Underwood, paved the way for the future Gloria Steinems of the world. She had eight grandchildren, with my being the only girl. You would think Grandma would favor her only granddaughter, but she seemed to delight in goading the boys in making me miserable, even helping them. Grandma never stayed in one place very long and would spend her time staying with each of her three children a few months at a time. In between “visits” she would stay for a few weeks at one of her many properties in the Ozarks of Missouri in cabins without running water, electricity, or plumbing and just a mattress on the floor. We knew Grandma had arrived when we came home from school and found her thundermug, her carpet bag with possessions, and a big black suitcase full of pills ( which remained a mystery to her death as to what they were) on the front porch. One summer I had planted a nice little garden by myself at age 11. Brother Steve, age 7, came out while I was watering it with the hose and started running through it stomping on plants willy-nilly. I turned the hose on him, the natural thing to do. He ran into house crying for Grandma who looked out, assessed the situation, and began handing pot and pans to Steve to throw at me. Thank goodness Mom arrived home about that time (driving a car which was unheard of by women in the 1940s) and began to scold Steve and Grandma. I did not dare gloat or there would have been retribution the next day. That is the summer I moved my bed, huge radio, and dresser from the attic where Brother Bill, Brother Steve, Grandma and I all slept. I carted it down to the basement and partitioned off a nice cubby hole and had the best sleep of my life. The best part was not hearing Grandma use her thundermug during the night.


  4. Pingback: “You have a brother?” | Caroline's Place to Write

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