Overhead Bucket

My brother was just full of imagination.  Even at twelve years old he was often sitting in his room plotting something.  He was exceeding quiet this day.

                                         photo was taken five years before the bucket event

I'd been downstairs learning to sew at ten years old.  After an hour sewing with my mother, I went up to my first floor room.  My brother was conspicuously absent.He wasn't in the living room, where he could often be found reading the Hardy Boys or a sci-fi book.

I proceeded to walk down our short hall in a tiny cape cod home.  Suddenly, I noticed a cord danging in the door jam.  I knew something had to be up.

With a swift tap of my foot in the direction of the bedroom door, I noticed a splash of water fall to the floor.  My mother's room was next to mine. She followed me up the stairs to prepare dinner. As she paused in the hall, her eyes gazed toward me.  Quietly, I motioned to her to observe this phenomenon. Again, I pushed the door open ever so gently.  More water splashed out.

Mom was mad!  She saw water dripping on the wood floor.  Knowing my petite size, she discerned the perpetrator fast.  My dad was volunteering at the firehouse so there was only one other person who could possibly have facilitated this scheme.  My brother.

Had I pushed the door open with my usual gusto, the bucket would have tipped, pouring water on my head.  He hoped he would have the last laugh.

He did not.  But I sure did!