Growing Up Eighties, Chuckie's Revenge

When I had my tonsils removed it was a big deal. My parents were terrified and sick with worry. I was the first child. The guinea pig. With Chuckie, it would be easier.
I remember coming home after the surgery and sitting in the living room. My dad was holding me in his lap and my mom was telling Chuckie that I probably didn’t feel like playing and probably wouldn’t for a little while. He was, at first, and assumingly, excited to see me. Who wouldn’t be? That’s what I was thinking because when you’re a kid everyone treats you like a superstar in the hospital.
There were books all over the floor. There is a possibility that they weren’t books. Maybe they were cards. It doesn’t really matter what they were, because two seconds after my mom told my brother that I was sick, he started wailing books/cards/weapons of death at my throat. Uncontrollably, as I remember it.
My mom will probably say that Chuckie was upset that I couldn’t play. That he threw a tantrum. But I still believe that this act was his revenge. He knew I was down and he knew that was the only way he could defeat me.