So, I was a very imaginative child. I would spend hours by myself, telling myself a story. Often these stories got wildly out of hand, and ended in some horrible, macabre, gory way.
Seriously people, I once started singing a version of "On Top of Spaghetti" to myself that somehow ended in the battlefield massacre of millions of puppies!
I have no idea why my imagination was so messed up from such an early age (ahem, watching Star Wars when I was three, ahem), but it was, and it usually ended up with me in tears over the horrors that had befallen my characters, and running to mom, until I realized she just didn't understand.
I have no idea how my mother put up with it.
Scene: Kitchen, mid 1980s, mom making dinner.
Mom: So nice to have the kids playing quietly in their rooms. Kids, wash your hands! Soups on!
A: Yay Dinner!
C: =SOB= bwaaaaaaa! =SOB=
Mom: C! What wrong sweetie?
C: The kitty di-i-ed-d =SOB= bwaaaaaaaa!
Mom: What kitty died? Where? A? What did you do to your sister?
C: The kitty with the candle =hic= he ... he ... went up the stairs ... and the door wouldn't open ... and...and he ...he di-i-i-ed =SOB!=
Mom: What kitty?
C: The one on my wall =sniffle=
Mom: What kit-...? You mean the one on the tapestry? The one your Aunt made? On the wall above your desk?
C: un hun
Mom: The kitty on your tapestry died...
C: un hun
C: I was telling myself a s-story and the kitty died at the end...
Mom: Wh- ?........ I am sorry honey, that is very sad. Why didn't you tell yourself a happier story?
C: =confused stare= =uh oh! abort! Mom doesn't understand that stories go where they want, say no more, just start eating=
Mom: ...Well ... um ... eat up...?
As an adult looking back now, you can totally tell that she was thinking something along the lines of "WTF!!!! This kid is totally batsh*t crazy!!!!" or whatever the polite way of saying that in the 1980s would have been. Everytime my family didn't understand why I had done something, I just clammed up and wouldn't say any more. I had obviously miscalculated my observations of humanity somewhere and done it wrong if they didn't understand and therefore had brought shame upon myself.
Like I said: Weird Kid!
Mom's line to explain to my brother why we were treated differently in terms of punishments and things when we were growing up is:
"Well, I could reason with you! There was absolutely no reasoning with her!"