JCC Stories your relatives love to tell about your when you were little

Tonight, we had my relatives over to celebrate Christmas (I know, I know....), and my aunt was again telling about the time when I was a toddler, she was running the church's daycare (she was probably a teenager at the time), and I escaped from under her watch to go out into the congregation right in the middle of a service, and she caught me just as I got into the aisle, and everybody laughed at the little curly red-haired child, and my parents sunk down in the pews from embarrassment.

So, got any tales your relatives like to tell about the things you did when you were too little to remember?

 

Most of the stories my family tells about me usually involve people wondering how I'm still alive. For example:
When I was just a few days old my mom set me on the couch and my oblivious (and rather large) grandpa sat on me. He only realized his mistake when my mom started screaming.
When I was a few months old, I rolled myself off the couch, but escaped uninjured as I landed on the family dog who was lying there
Right after I learned to walk, I was toddling around the driveway and my 2 year old sister was playing in the family station wagon. She managed to take it out of park and rolled it backwards, knocking me down and running me over.

Though the most repeated story about little me is that when I was 9 (so yeah, I remember it happening) my family was asked to light the advent candles at church on Christmas Eve. The day of, I told my parents I didn't feel good and didn't want to go. They insisted it was just nerves. Halfway through the candle lighting I threw up in front of the entire congregation. 16 years later, people still bring that one up every Christmas.

 

My Dad likes to on occasion tell about how I would put all of my Star Wars books in a box (when my collection was smaller than it is now) and would throw them out of my upstairs bedroom in case a fire happened when I was younger.

 

Once when I was little my parents thought I was old enough to order for myself at a buffet restaurant. I told the waitress I'd like the buffet, only I pronounced it buff-fett. To this day, my father likes to ask me if I would like the buff-fett whenever we go someplace that has one.

 

That sounds like something my Dad would do

 

I have thousands of these. Millions.

I used to imitate the Hulk, inspired by the popular TV series at the time. Complete with ripped jeans and slow-motion walk. To his dying day, my grandfather called me "Hulk".

I tell my mother not to use butter if she's going to spread peanut butter on my bread, because "that sticks anyway".

My great-grandmother asks me something I can't know, and I say, "No idea, I'm not a through-seer", by which I mean clairvoyant. My great-grandmother, by the way, who lived to be 97, had tears of laughter streaming down her face: she was the only person I've ever known who could laugh so hard she literally produced tears of laughter.

Ever the artist, I forbid my mother to flush my poo. I can't believe she does it anyway.

At a swimming pool, without provocation from the other party involved, I tell a rather corpulent gentleman to "make a splash, fatty".

At the same swimming pool, I buy up lots of candy and start handing it out to people. I was 6.

One afternoon, at a birthday, I tell my grandfather, who had emphysema, to walk laps around the house to improve his condition. Everyone laughs so hard I never dare to give anyone advice again. 14 years later, I'm a psychologist.

One dark winter evening, I secretly put 15 dollars through the letterbox of a poor family that lived nearby. I proudly tell my mother that, and she flatly says, "They'd need a lot more than your 15 dollars."

 

one time when i was 5 on some random day in august i woke up and just decided it was my birthday. so i walked into the living room and proudly proclaimed to my dad and his girlfriend, "today's my birthday". and they just... totally went along with it. i think partly they thought it was funny and partly they thought they might guilt me out of it. but that didn't work. they bought me presents, a cake and ice cream, and took me to eat at my favorite restaurant. it was amazing.

also, according to my dad if they ever took me to a restaurant and told me i could get whatever i wanted i would just get pie. and then for dessert i would get more pie.

 

im shocked the op didnt end with babby dan the jedi winding up under some woman's skirt

an origin story...

 

ABOUT YOUR

 

Mine involve me injuring myself, such as smashing my face with a padlock while I was trying to imitate Indiana Jones or the time I sprinted full tilt into a wall Mark Sanchez buttfumble style.

 

i raced my friend to a sliding glass door when i was probably 7 or 8, subsequently smashing into it when i won and shattering it

nobody ever brings that one up actually but i remember...

 

I sucked my thumb. til I was like 10 or something. That's about it.

 

I hit airport fire alarms a couple different times. If that happened now, my parents would probably be hauled off on some kind of terrorism-related charges. Back then, nobody cared.

 

I'll see this and raise you painting my exposed skin green using a cheap, children's water colour set.

 

When I was probably about three or four I was taken to a new restaurant and, finding this experience too much to bear, took refuge under the table.

My response to new things has since significantly improved, but apparently not enough to stop this story from being retold.

 

When I was a young boy, I played my uncle in a game of chess. After staring at the board for some time, I remarked, "I feel like you're trying to manipulate me." Everyone thought it was a hugely precocious remark, and giggled in delight. As it turns out, he was trying to manipulate me. He succeeded. I lost. Badly.

 

When I was three, I allegedly poured a bag of flour all over myself and the coffee table. I don't remember that and there's no pictorial or video proof, so I try to call shenaigans everytime that story is retold.

 

My parents, like everyone, always heard how hard it was to take care of a baby.It wasn't difficult with me. I was quiet, rarely cried. They claim it was so easy they decided they would have another kid.

Of course, I was born premature. So. Story.

 

To be fair, that must happen to every red head child.

 

I used to sleep under the table at long family dinners. Or my parents would bring a bag of Lego for me to play with.

 

When I was about four my grandfather managed to convince me that strawberries were really called "strumbubbles." I have never, ever lived that down. My grandfather called me "the strumbubble girl" until he died.

 

When I was 4 I got into my mom's Jeep, pretended to be driving it, took the E break off, and rammed it into the garage door since our driveway is sloped. To this day, that garage door still has the dent in it.

 

There's a story I swear was me, but my older sister swears was her. We were in Puerto Rico visiting grandparents and I (yes, it was me) got lost in a clothing store. One of the sales ladies found me and asked for my mom's name -so I told her Maria Garcia, which was her maiden name. They paged her a few times and she never came because, duh, that wasn't her name now. Finally they paged something like "Maria Garcia, please meet your daughter Carmen at the desk," and she finally came and was all 'why did you tell them my name was Garcia?!' My response was that I didn't know how to say our actual last name in Spanish, so I went with Garcia, since it WAS Spanish.

When Soph and I ask her which one of us it was, she always says she doesn't remember. Probably because she doesn't want to hurt Sophie's feelings.