The Idea Guy

Right, wrong, and the morality of secrets

My big brother picked on me when we were kids; it's just what big brothers do. But sometimes, instead of giving me an Indian burn or a knuckle-rub, he would whisper, "I have an idea."

Invariably, his ideas were outside the rules. Food in the bedroom; wrestling in the house; playing on the dangerous banks down in the creek.

"I have an idea: let's tell Mom we're going to Patrick's; we'll sneak down into the creek, instead."

Somehow, that worked just about every time. We would meet my brother's friends down on "the trail." I was helping them build their clubhouse—as the designated manual labor. I didn't care; I was with the Big Kids.

One day, they "had an idea" to make a warning system so nobody could creep up on their clubhouse. They dug a pit, put a rock and a board in it, like a seesaw. I knew someone could twist their ankle, but the boys went a step further, putting nails face-up in the board. I knew that could really hurt someone.

I struggled with that, and a few days later, I told Mom about it. She exploded on my brother and made him go fill in the pit. She even said she was going to have the neighborhood policeman check to make sure there was nothing left.

The boys knew who told on them. My brother roughed me up a bit, and I was no longer welcome with him and his friends. In fact, from that point on, I didn't think he ever said those magic words to me again: "I have an idea."

Fifth grade is almost one of the Big Kids, but still too young to have to learn that doing the right thing comes with a heavy price...and often a heavy heart.

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase: "I have an idea."