Michael Peyton - My Family, a Cult, and Trump: Why this Canadian Believes Trump is the Most Important US President in History

Have you ever done something dangerous regardless of the consequences, just because it was so damned fun?

I grew up in rural Ontario and on our property, sat an old two-story barn. It looked like you would expect. The bottom floor was laid in solid stone some long time before we moved there. The rest was framed in wood three of the four walls still holding onto some of the original wooden planks. The fourth, the side facing the house, was open to the elements. My eldest brother Harold was a serious and angry kid. He didnt share my sense of fun or the taste for fun at all, really.

That spring day, he happened to be on the second floor of the barn for some reason I cant remember. And as was the case from time to time, I also just happened to have some raw eggs in my pocket. I dont remember whether I had carried them with me that day for any particular purpose, to throw at passing cars or some other stupid reason, but there he was, a living target stranded on the open second floor of the barn, perched and perfectly exposed.

I approached the barn smiling, egg in hand. Harry looked back at me, his eyes cold and set with warning. I drew my arm back. Butterflies filled my gut as I weighed the odds of getting away. Ah screw it. I was never good with odds anyway, and how often would I have a chance like this?

I knew I had only one shot and wanted to make it count. Hit or miss wouldnt matter to him. If he caught me, he would punish the intent. His pretty face was a small target, but if I struck it, I was as good as dead. On the other hand, he was wearing a heavy coat. If the shot landed anywhere other than head or legs, it might not even break until it hit the floor. My options before me, and time winding down, I settled on a compromise. Harry stood against a wall. That was his undoing. I launched the egg with force against the wall about a foot beside his face. Perfection. Yellow goo sprayed out like shrapnel, covering him face, coat, and limb. Then I ran. Laughing and full of adrenaline, I ran for my very life. Have you ever tried to run in a nightmare? Some monster is chasing after you and the faster you run, the slower you seem to go? It doesnt only happen in dreams.

My brother was that monster. The lanky son-of-a-bitch caught me quicker than I thought possible and, in a single movement, had me pinned to the grass on my back. My little brother Charlie watched nearby; no doubt worried hed be drawn into the skirmish himself. There is always collateral damage in war. This was no different. Harry commanded him to fetch an egg from the kitchen. My counter-command was immediate, Get an egg, and Ill kill you! In a classic catch-22, Charlie made the smart choice and dutifully got the egg. Harry pried my mouth open, inserted the raw egg and then slammed my mouth shut. Crunch, squish. Then he held my mouth shut and covered my nose. Gulp. It was disgusting, but I suppose I deserved it. Looking back, the situation had worked out fine for everybody. I carry with me the memory of egg splattered across my big brothers face. He got the revenge he needed without inflicting long-term injury; all things considered I got off lightly. And Charlie had navigated the situation deftly, avoiding Harrys immediate ire by obeying him, and my own by disappearing for a sufficient amount of time. Unlike Harry, I dont hold a grudge.

Harold was older by two years, but a gulf of differences separated us. Tall and dark, he was the best looking of the six of us kids. My mothers golden boy. He was a high achiever, the like of which would make any parent proud. He also had a wicked temper. Any insult or slight would be returned immediately and with disproportionate force.

I, on the other hand, was probably the ugliest of our brood. Always the one trying new things, I was my mothers worst nightmare and Im sure she wished more than a few times that she had stopped popping out kids after the first two. After a particularly scary incident, I remember her sending me away for a time, a week or so as I recall, to stay with one of her friends, some strict and ancient spinster of a cat lady. My younger brother Willie had nearly drowned in the creek on our property. It was only him, Charlie, and me there when it happened. I was the oldest at six years, but I suppose that made me responsible. I had to stay with that old crone until my family had built a fence around the main part of the property. Not sure what they thought was going to do other than give us something to climb. At times, I think my mother must have believed I was possessed by the devil. Maybe she thought demons couldnt cross fences. I dont know, but Im sure whatever she thought, my siblings must have thought the same.

I was always up for a practical joke, anything to do with authority was just a challenge to be overcome and rules were obviously for breaking. This, of course, was decades before cell phones or iPads. When I was bored, which was often, I would create some mischief often getting my brothers or myself in trouble. And if I was exceptionally bored, I would take my life in hand and screw with Harry.