The time I tried to poison my Grandmother (well, sort of)

I grew up in a small southern Baptist town where your social set was determined by where your Sunday school class was held. I always wondered why my Atheist dad had us live and grow up in t a place where the people could be two-faced, backwards or fanatically religious, and most of the time all three. Not only were my parents from another country, but I didn't go to church or Sunday school. These were things that not only deemed me to go straight to hell but guaranteed me almost NO childhood friends.. So let us imagine that I was a sensitive about the subject when I overheard my own grandmother, my own flesh and blood, during one of her visits to this country, arguing with my dad about how his youngest (me) was going to hell because she wasn't christened. Yes, I was a quiet child, but rage was always there, lurking beneath the surface, just waiting to explode when pushed.

My grandmother suddenly became a tangible enemy and an easier target than the whole Deep South. So I decided to seek revenge in order to teach her a lesson. I mixed up devil's brew of Murine eye drops and spit in one of those Easy Bake Oven pies while my older sister watched, amused and somehow joining in on my plan as if she had wanted to get back at our grandmother for something too.

"Abuelita, I made a pie for you!" I sweetly told her, putting one hand on my hip as I lifted my other hand palm up balancing the sweet concoction on a plate. I had seen waitresses do this, so I imagined it gave this plan an air of authenticity.

"No, mi neita...I'm so tired." She told me. "Would you bring me an aspirin instead?"

My grandmother thought the aspirin was a panacea. She took an aspirin if she was tired, she took one if she was worried, she took one if her neighbors were ugly. I never recall her taking them for pain.

As I stood there mulling over this and on how I could get her to eat the pie a voice came from nowhere: "I'll eat it mi hijita!"

My sister and I watched in horror as our dad grabbed the tainted Easy Bake Oven pie and plopped the whole thing into his mouth. Mission Unaccomplished. Situation Now All Fucked Up.

We spied on our dad the rest of the day fearing that he would suddenly get sick from ingesting Murine. But we more fearful of admitting our deed lest giving more ammunition for my grandmother to force me into some religious ritual (which I imagined had to be embarrassing or possibly painful).

Nothing happened, of course. Though later I did fall against a bent metal corner of my Easy Bake Oven (yes, back then they were made of metal) and slit my elbow. The cut required several stitches. I still have the thin keloid scar today to remind me of my brush with grand matricide.