NEVER GIVE A SUCKER AN EVEN BREAK
The trust of a young child is something sacred.
It's something that should not be broken or taken advantage of at any cost.
But clearly someone didn't tell my middle brother Reuben who, already at the age of 13, was displaying all the tell tale signs of a master manipulator which he would still to this day happily accept as a badge of honour.
But perhaps I'm being a trifle unfair on him, as it was our father (the Bodhisattva) who oft repeated the W.C. Fields classic dictum, "Never give a sucker an even break" casually in front of us, never suspecting my brother Reuben would take this famous comical quote quite so literally, making it his personal philosophy for life.
In the scenario which I'm about to recall, it is to my great regret that it was I, who was indeed the sucker.
The year was 1983. I was five years old. I remember that every day after attending my primary school in rural Gloucestershire, England, my brother and I would venture to the local newsagent where we would choose what sweets and snacks to buy with our alloted daily budget of pocket money.
He would often select what, to my immature mind, seemed more grown up items such as Walker's Salt and Vinegar crisps and Bounty bars whilst I was still in the Smarties phase of my confectionary development. Smarties are a popular tube candy first invented by Rowntree & Company in the U.K that have been in production since 1937. With milk chocolate inside shiny coloured shells, they are comparable to the now more globally renowned M&Ms that have currently been given a woke makeover.
As we travelled back home in the car, my brother would whisper quietly in my ear, "Save some for E.T." pointing at my tube of unopened Smarties and clearly alluding to the famous scene in the alien movie where the young Elliott lures the benign creature from outer space into his house using Reese's Pieces (American Smarties) as friendly bait.
My brother would have observed, along with everyone else in my family, my inability at the time to distinguish between reality and fantasy when it came to movies.
I believed them to be as real as the ground beneath my feet.
Spielberg's movie E.T. (1982) was the first film I ever saw at the cinema and it literally blew my young mind to such an extent that each night I would go out into my front garden and kick a ball into the shed waiting for it to be returned by the rubber necked extra-terrestial.
Sadly, it never was and I'm still waiting.
My eldest brother Colin would also play his part in cementing my Quixote-like delusions of E.T. being real by placing two chairs in front of each other while we re-enacted the iconic flying scene as the main John Williams theme from the film spun on a 7" single on the turntable of the downstairs stereo system. Not tilting at windmills as such, but instead flying past the moon.
It goes without saying that I was always E.T. (typically with a white blanket over my head and two cut out peepholes) while my eldest brother was a more sullen, punk looking Elliott.
Late at night, having taken counsel from my middle brother consigiliere dead seriously, I ventured out of our bedroom and poured a trail of smarties across the landing (just as you'll recall Elliott does with E.T. in the film) after which I would head downstairs to the bathroom (again on my brother's earnest recommendation) while I would wait for a stipulated minimum of ten minutes before returning to my room.
By the time I had come back, the trail of smarties was gone, further confirming my staunch belief that E.T. was undeniably real.
I'm ashamed to admit that this nightly ritual was maintained for months before I eventually developed some suspicion that something was awry and only then because I believe Reuben was caught snaffling my smarties by an adult in that ten minute window while I was downstairs in the bathroom again.
To this day I'm still not quite sure what happened.
Like the cosmos, it remains an eternal mystery.
The last time I laid a trail of smarties for my beloved E.T. I returned to find they had all been collected inside a familar looking dice shaker from our games cupboard accompanied by a small note with a barely legible scrawl which simply read: "E.T.'s had to go home. Bye."
My deceitful brother comforted me in my bereavement as sincerely as Elliott's older brother Michael does in the original movie. I had not yet established a concept of manipulation so I continued to believe in my innocently gullible way that E.T's written explanation was gospel.
Perhaps if I had been less believing I might have found my brother smiling to himself whilst resting his head against mine.
The bastard!
In conclusion, I wish I could say that this was the only time in my young life where I was hoodwinked by my brother Reuben but alas, I can also admit to one other occasion whilst we were playing in the hayfields close to home, where I suddenly heard the sound of wailing police sirens in the distance.
As I looked up and pointed toward the distant town, I asked my brother : "Where's that?"
He looked back at me and said without hesitation.
"America."
