Repressed memories are like little gifts you get in therapy

I won't say that I had a traumatic childhood, but maybe to someone else it would have been. For every story of playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on each other's face and the subsequent concussion, there are two stories of love and support. The stories of torture are now shared over holiday meals and card games with our wives.
Here is what I remember: I was about 5 years old. Kindergarten was great. My teacher used to give me packs of hockey cards (like baseball cards, but for crazy people who like hockey). I couldn't give a crap about any sport at the time (that hasn't changed) but they were cool and the idea that one day they would be valuable intrigued me. My family had a Nintendo with Dr. Mario(to which my parents were severely addicted (I remember trying to go to bed, unable to do so because my mom and dad were in my room playing Dr. Mario)) and a couple of other games (Super Mario 3 is still the best game ever). My childhood was a time Ghostbusters (the cartoon) Double Dare (Nickelodeon Game show), and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. (I was playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one time and gave a flying kick the face of one of my brothers.)
Back to the story at hand: I am five and thus is my life. I am home with my brothers and my eldest brother offers me some chocolate. I hungrily take the chocolate and consume the whole bar. It didn't great, but it was chocolate and nothing will stand in between chocolate and my consumption of it (at that time). I don't remember anything after that.
What actually happened: My mother was a drug rep at the time and as such we had an abundant supply of all sorts of fun medicines, including but not limited to, X-lax. I am not sure how it comes now, but in the early 90s X-lax used to come in a series of chocolate looking cubes connected by a thin lining of more chocolate looking chalky substance. My brother wiped off the X-lax logo from the top of each cube and wrapped it in tin foil. He left the house for a few minutes saying he was going to the PDQ (the gas station near our house). He came back and offered both my older brother and I the chocolate. My older brother tasted the chocolate and realized it was disgusting and ate no more, but he didn't stop me from eating an inhuman amount of X-lax. (Thank you) The story (that will soon be told around a table at Thanksgiving) is that I had diarrhea so long that my parents almost took me to the hospital (and of course they had no idea why). It became so bad that my brother actually confessed what he had done (I don't remember, but for my brother to confess, I am sure it had to be really bad).
So what do we learn from this? Older brothers are cruel, but only because kids are stupid (specifically me). I don't know if I gave you a funny story or an idea for future shenanigans, but in any case, there are more torture stories/lessons to come.