Tabasco not Ketchup
I can't fully recall the details because it was my fourth year birthday, but after conferring with my sister I was able to narrow down the place, and the details of the event are again seared into my mind.
So my family, my mother, father, 7-year-old sister and 11-year-old brother went out to eat at a burger restaurant called Fuddruckers. As a child I was a very picky eater and would only eat about three different foods, primarily though a grilled cheese sandwich every night. Anyways we went out to eat at the restaurant and everyone in my family order burgers, given it was a burger joint. I however didn't like hamburgers at that point, so instead I got a hotdog.
When our food came out, mine was ready first, being a simple order, and eventually my family's burgers were brought out. As the waitress was passing out the meals to my family, my mother was distracted when my brother turned to me and asked me "do you want some ketchup on your hotdog?" to which I replied "yes." He then grabbed a bottle of tobasco sauce instead of ketchup and applied it to the food. I was just at the point of being able to read, my parents never taught me, so I was a bit behind, and I was too young to know the difference between ketchup and tabasco written on the labels.
I took the first bite and the heat immediately hit my mouth and I began crying. I cried profusely because I had never been introduced to spicy foods, and the pain was unbearable at that point in my life. After crying out and bawling, the restaurant staff started bringing over water and soda to help, they didn't have milk, but probably could have used cheese. Anyways my sister tells me that my mother yelled at my brother, but I don't think he was physically punished per the usual, or maybe he was, who knows when trauma occurs at such an early age and in such abundance.
It is events like this that I believe my brother was mean to me before I was able to form memories given his treatment of when I could. I still remember the place I was sitting in the restaurant; I can see myself from a third person perspective watching over. My face is red and tears are coming down, I was facing the window and my brother to my left. I remember everything, even the pain comes back in waves when I reflect on this event. This wasn't the first time my brother would hurt me in our youth, but one event that does hurt me from the physical trauma. To this day my brother has never reflected about such behavior with empathy and offerd an apology, he is just like our mother and father in that he finds these events of suffering humorous.