Pandas, What Was The Worst Thing You Accidentally Did As A Kid?

When I was about 7 or 8, my cousins got stuck about 2 hours out of my town (and about 6 hours from theirs) thanks to a tornado. At the time there were two daughters, one about my age, who (as did I) enjoyed cosmetics. Like nail polish.

My parents did the nice thing and went to retrieve them. The family car could not fit seven people, so they rented a mini-van. This mini-van was brand new to the rental dealership. As in, had about 18 miles on it when we rented it, and it was in mint condition. Please note that the use of the past tense is not because this story happened over 20 years ago.

While packing to go retrieve my cousins and aunt and uncle, I had the wonderful idea that I could spend the long drive to deliver them home discussing cosmetics with my cousin, so I packed my pillowcase (because I routinely used my 101 Dalmatians Lucky pillowcase as a rucksack) with a variety of such things, including a bottle of bright blue, metallic-shimmer nail polish. There was, of course, no need to involve a parent in my plans. Thus begins our story.

It was all fine until the Wyoming-Nebraska border on I-80, when I started to detect a faint aroma of nail polish emanating from my pillowcase. Now, you know that even when a bottle of nail polish is closed, sometimes it can still give off a faint odor of nail polish if some got on the bottle the last time you used it. The female occupant of the front seat remarked upon the scent, and I dismissed her fears, not wanting a lecture about how if I did my nails in a contained space with my cousin it would give her a headache or something. I assumed that the closed bottle just smelled like nail polish, after all. I assumed wrongly.

Another half hour passed by, when I finally examined said pillowcase (I believe I was in fact using it as an actual pillow).To my horror, half of the pillowcase, my childhood blankie (don't judge me; I still used it in the car), several toys and stuffed animals, and other sundry goods had been coated in the nail polish. In addition, my seatbelt, the seat, and by the time I had waved it around in horror, the seatback in front of me was also be-nailpolished. I panicked.

Using my travel-cup of water, I attempted to remove it. No dice. I used my saliva. I used some juice. Nothing worked. I was in full FEMA crisis mode. By this time, my mother said that there was some kind of engine fluid leak. I felt morally bound at this to report the situation to the authorities.

I won't forget stopping at a podunk gas station in Sidney, Nebraska, trying to find anything that might assist in removing the nail polish. I specifically remember a toothbrush being involved, but it wasn't like it sold acetone. The blanket and pillowcase (my only concerns, to be frank) were a lost cause; I think mom was able to get almost 80% of the polish off the mini-van's upholstery.

The affair of the nail polish delayed our retrieval of the tornado-stranded family by about an hour. The smell remained with the formerly pristine mini-van for the rest of the week that we had it (I don't remember why we had it more than a day or two -- maybe they extended the lease to try to remove the evidence of my crimes. Most of the nail polish disappeared once my mother had procured acetone, but I don't think that the smell ever would have dissipated.

So that's the story of how I, while attempting to lighten the heart of my cousin with post-tornado chauffeured manicures, ruined a brand-new mini-van. RIP van.

I was a stupid little kid who found a caterpillar. I held it up and ran around my preschool showing it to everyone, and this other kid wanted to see it. He grabbed it, I screamed: “NO, YOU’LL PROBABLY JUST HURT IT!” He pulled. I pulled. RIP caterpillar.

When I was 3, my mom started the car to get it warmed up and left my brother (10) and I in it while she ran back inside to get something. She hadn't buckled me in to my car seat yet, and I was sitting in the middle of the bench seat in the front. She had given us explicit instructions not to touch anything. I, however, touched the gear shift and managed to get the car in reverse. My brother actually managed to jump out (without me) and the car made it across the busy county highway we lived on. Thankfully the car wasn't hit, and thankfully it got stuck in a ditch before I made it too far, because on the other side of the road was a small corn field and a river.
She was grateful I was safe, but not so grateful about having to get her Cadillac towed out of a ditch.

When I was about 10 I asked my friend if her parents were still together, and she seemed confused. I went on to explain: Well, I always see either your mom or dad, but I never see them together. 5 years later, I asked her again because she never answered me the first time. She revealed that she thought I asked her if her pants were still together.

When I was around 9, I thought of the sweetest anniversary surprise ever for my parents: My Mum no longer wore her engagement ring as it had a stone missing. So I sneaked it from her jewellery box and sold it to a kid down the street for a few pounds and then bought her a new - fully intact - ring from the second hand stall on the market.

On the day I gave her it, I also presented my Dad with his beloved silver tea service which had tarnished - and which I had lovingly brought back to a beautiful silver shine using Brillo pads.

My mum got her ring back, but there was no rescuing that tea service!

When I was about 7 or 8 I liked the taste of food coloring. I have a sister 5 years younger than me. I stole a box of food coloring from the kitchen and hid it under my bed. My sister went quiet and we didn't see her for about 30 minutes. My mom and I went looking for her and she found my food coloring. She had dyed herself black, purple, and blue. She was stained for about 3 weeks..

My girl cousin and I were 3 and 4 when we found that can of house paint in the garage. This was 1956 so of course it was oil-based and it wasn't tightly sealed.
After we opened it and stirred it with a couple of sticks, we had only to decide what in the garage needed a nice coat of paint.
Well, sitting right there was the family's 1953 Chevrolet BelAir just crying out for a green touch-up.
For some reason we decided that it was the chrome that needed color and using the branches we'd used to stir it we very carefully applied the paint on just those parts.
It was probably the quiet that attracted the adults' attention and we were soon discovered but not before we had pretty well covered the grill and bumper.
(later on, our parents would comment on how well we had managed to keep to the chrome).
My Irish uncle, it was decided, would mete out our punishment. After vigorously cleaning our skin with turpentine he marched us into the house, taking off his belt as he sent us to our rooms.
He took care of my cousin first, going into her room and closing the door. Soon the sounds of her cries rang through the halls.
Next he came to the bedroom I shared with my sister and after closing the door, said, "I want you to howl." And then proceeded to whip the hell out of my pillow.
Relieved but still intimidated, I complied. But my 4 year-old acting skills were apparently lacking and after a moment he paused, grabbed a bit of flesh on my upper arm and pinched me hard.
This instantly brought tears to my eyes, which, when we then exited, added a convincing touch to our 'punishment.'
Years later, the half-sister who had raised him came from Ulster for a visit and we all heard quite a few stories of _his_ youthful mischief.
So many things that by comparison, made our 'artistic' efforts seem pitifully inconsequential but certainly explained his leniency.

When I was 3yo I kept throwing things in the toilet. So my mum thought of a trick - she told me that everything I throw in there ends up in the sea, and that next summer we won't go to the sea side because it will be all dirty. Naturally I stopped. But, only a few days later EPIPHANY struck:
My dad had a tank with beautiful fish. I've always thought those fish were sad for being held in our tank. I scooped them up one by one and threw them in the toilet, all 20+ of them, poured ALL their food in there too, and flushed while waving "byebye".

My brother and I had the whole of Olay's stock recalled from Supermarkets across the country after a prank we played on my mum when we were 6 and 8.

He had been given some itching powder as a joke gift, we added to her face cream and waited to see what would happen. When she used it she immediately called the store as it felt like there was glass in the lotion. Half an hour later the emergency anouncement is sent to all stores to recall the product across the country, at which point my brother and I ask my mum if she liked her face cream that morning. We both had to write grovelling apology letters to the head office- lesson learned!

I swallowed a quarter when I was 3 and had to go to the hospital

I was a super sensitive and anxious kid. One time I was walking in public with my grandmother when she noticed I was crying and asked me what was wrong. Through the tears I said, "That man touched me!" She looked behind us and saw the guy walking away, so she grabbed my hand and in full Grandma-Rage-Mode started stomping towards him... meanwhile asking me, "Where did he touch you? You show me what he did!"

Sniffling and weepy, I said, "Like this..." and I go * pat pat * on my own head.

She gave me a spankin' right there and then for almost causing her death by cardiac arrest.

I used to spend several weeks out of every summer staying with my aunt and uncle. I got to play with my cousin, and presumably my single father got to take a break. One year, on the day I was due to come home, I called and asked permission to stay another week, and he agreed. After I went home, a family friend told me they had been at my house the week before...for my surprise welcome home party. Dad bought a cake, decorated, and bbq'd. This was a man who did not entertain or demonstrate affection. True to character, he never told me about the party he attempted.

Wow, just brought back memories. As a 4 1/2 year old, I was playing with the six year old boy on his porch three doors down. He suggested playing tic-tac-toe, but we didn't have any paper.

He says "I got it!" and runs into the house, then comes back with eraseable pens and starts drawing a grid on the cement porch. We play a game, but then the marks just smear when we go to erase them, so we just move and start over. We must have played 15-16 rounds with the "pens", which turns out were just shoe polish bottles with easy to apply applicators, which I'd never seen before since my Dad used the paste type.

Went back home, two hours later my parents get a knock on the door, are told by the neighbor I had come up with the idea and I had told their son to go get shoe polish to play. My parents call me to the door and ask me in front of the other parent if I had played with shoe polish on Bobby's porch. "No mom, there was no shoe polish. Bobby said he had some eraseable pens we could use." Other parent, light bulb going on, says "Well, Bobby has got some lying to atone for, too, but y'all gotta clean the porch together."

Hardest work that 4 1/2 year old me had done to date. 30 minutes to play, 2 hours to clean, and not very well. The whole time angry at Bobby for lying to me, then angry at his Mom for saying I couldn't play with Bobby any more 'cause "He doesn't make good choices when I'm around."

I was happy when his family moved, but missed playing with him. That was a long time ago. Fortunately, I've clearly gotten over it.

I don't know if it's the worst but I ruined my parents romantic anniversary.

I was around 7 and I woke up in the middle of the night because my stomach didn't feel well. So I went upstairs to tell my parents.

When I opened their door I remember there were candles, music playing and when my mom saw me she immediately pulled a blanket around herself.

She asked my what I was doing up and before I could even finish my sentence I projectile vomited all over everything.

As a young little shithead my favorite prank was to lock bathroom stall doors and then crawl underneath them and exit the scene. One time, my parents dragged me to Costco with them. I went to the biggest stall in the back of the bathroom, locked that shit and scampered away with a grin. I ended up going back to the same Costco the next day because my parents had to return something. I went to the same stall and it was still locked, this time I actually had to take a shit. I crawled under the door only come face to face with an old guy looking at me like I was from another planet. I recoiled away so hard that I smacked my head on the bottom of the door and ran from that bathroom like I'd never run in my life. I crack myself up whenever I try to imagine what that guy was thinking when a 9 year old tried to hijack his toilet.

Hello from southern Ontario! I remember one time my family was crossing the border into the States and we had garbage left over from the food we picked up on the drive there. My little sister noticed there was a big piece of lettuce on the floor as we were next in line for the border crossing. She immediately freaks out since our parents taught us about what we couldn't bring across the border, which includes produce. I was only 9 or 10 myself so I was panicking too, and I think the both of us were just screaming, "THE LETTUCE!"

My parents obviously have no idea what's happening as we drive up to the border agent. My dad couldn't even say a word to this guy because my sister and I were scream-crying in the background. And she was aggressively smacking me with the lettuce because I wouldn't hide it in my coat pocket. Border agent dude looked super annoyed and let us through in about ten seconds flat.

You're welcome Mom & Dad.

My mom has/had severe depression, and I wrote her a poem for mother's day when I was 8 that had lines like "I love you even though you cry all the time." I was really proud because I thought it really showed how much I care and I read it aloud to her. I didn't get the reaction I was expecting.

I had a lot of medical issues as a child, and so we had a massive drawer full of my prescription meds. When I was nine years old, a friend from school came over to my house... we played for a while before she told me that she had a stomachache. I, knowing just how to help, gave her some of my medicine for a similar issue.

She got pretty sick, and I got a really long lecture about how we do not give our medications to other people.

I still feel bad about that one.

My sister was two, and she saw a mixed race family, a white mum and a black dad, and their kid. She'd just learned about mixing colours so she yelled "WHAT A BEAUTIFUL GREY BABY."

Once when I was about 4, I sprayed a man driving by my house on his motorcycle with a water hose. I have no idea why I did it, I just remember that I was playing with the hose and he kept riding by over and over and I just had an impulse and went with it. He didn't come by again after that, obviously.