Worst childhood experience?

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My worst behaviour?
When I was around 7 years old I had a fascination with clocks & watches and loved seeing how all the gear trains related to each other, all the tiny detail in watches and so on. On one of my periodic forays (at the time, I tended to want to examine everything I could get my hands on) I came across a solid gold Hunter pocket watch hidden away at the back of a drawer in my parents' bedroom.

So I pulled it apart.
Not in any "young clockmaker" type of way: I wanted to see how many parts there were so I just pulled it apart.
I can still remember the beautiful tempered blue of the mainspring - and how long it turned out to be as I pulled it out.
The strange crunching and tinkling sound the pure white enamelled face made as I folded it in half.

It once belonged to my great-grandfather, and I broke it.

My worst experience?
The relentless bullying at school. Those bastards even bullied me about my mother dying (I was 10).

Worst behaviour... first day of kindergarten and most days after that, being totally out of control, screaming and crying and feeling totally overwhelmed. I didn't understand what was going on I thought everyone else was bazaar. After about two weeks of this I was removed from the school and sent for an assessment.

Worst experience... bullying in school and outside for most of my childhood.

I guess I misunderstood the question.

I was very compliant.

Swimming lessons, age 5. High dive board. The teacher promised I wouldn't go underwater and that she'd catch me. She lied. I went under and I was traumatized. Still can't go underwater on free will!

Wow, I did the same!
The only adult who had ever been good to me was my Grandfather.
He died when I was 5 before I was then put in childrens homes, my Mother gave me his gold watch.
This is the only tangible thing I would ever have had that related to him, and I took it apart to see how it worked, though I was carefull with the parts, I just couldnt figure out how it went back together, well I was only 5. Dont know what I did with the bits in the end?

At least I grew up to be a mechanic so maybe it was my first step along that road.

Owww, yes.
The one time I tried swimming as a child was the last. I was sort of standing about in the shallow end (what else is there to do when you can't swim? ) and the friend I was with suggested I try doing a doggy-paddle, so he held out his arms and I lay across them while frantically paddling away with my arms and legs.
Then he took his arms away and I went under immediately.
Instant terror, instant panic-stricken flailing of arms & legs. It took two other swimmers to grab hold of me and pull me to the side.
I've not been in a pool since.

Isn't it terrible the things we did as kids?

I didn't know my great-grandfather and it was only as an adult, while I was doing some research into the family tree, that this incident came up. I'd forgotten it.
My father was surprisingly stoic (he certainly wasn't at the time!) when we talked about it but the thing which really stung me was when he said "Oh well, it would have come to you anyway".
If I'd had it now it would have been a beautiful and treasured possession - not just for the quality and detail of the chasing on the case and intricacy of the mechanism, but because it would have been the only surviving link to my great-grandfather.

With me, it turned out that mechanical detail somehow didn't go deep enough - then I discovered electronics and the joys of pushing electrons about.
Now that's detail!

My worst behavior was destroying stuff. For some reason, whenever I saw something I wanted, usually made of glass, after it was in my hands it somehow got broken. I recall one time in particular. There was a beautiful blue vase with all kinds of ornate decorations. It was just so beautiful and I found it absolutely fascinating. One time, I took the lid and started rattling it against the vase. I remember listening to the sound of the lid gently tapping the vase and suddenly, the lid broke! In one crack near the top, it split. I felt a surge of fear, dread and panic, contemplated it might be my last days on earth once the lid was found. I carefully put it back together, it was only two pieces. It looked pretty good and fit together nicely so long as it was on top of the vase. The mouth of the vase held it together nicely, but once someone tried to remove it, watch out! It split in half immediately.
So I left it there like that, on a shelf and swore to myself no matter how strong the urge I would absolutely never ever in my entire life touch that vase again!
So, the vase sat there for a few days. One day, my mom looked closely at the lid, then picked it up. I explained it was only the lid, it could be superglued together and no one would notice it. I would never touch it again, I promised profusely. My mother was completely enraged. She grabbed the vase, held it high over her head and smashed it vehemently on the ground below. It shattered into, at the least, a thousand pieces. She stormed off, slamming the door to her room.
I was scared to death and could only sit there staring at the glass, sobbing hysterically.

I'm sure I'd have a really long and interesting list to share, if I hadn't blocked out much of my childhood memory from age 5-12. I have plenty of memories from home life, like holidays and meals and games and good times with my parents, family, and family friends, but everything from school is just vague images, mostly of teachers.

In sixth grade though, I had one experience that was profoundly awful. I wore tube socks, and for those of you who don't know, they are longer so they stop about halfway up the calf. Unfortunately, someone decided this was weird (still don't know who) and a bunch of people bugged me about it. Before the bell rang, all the students that arrived early would gather in the gym and sit in the bleachers, with little supervision. Someone started a chant of "pull down your socks" and the entire grade joined in as I walked in.

Before that experience, I had pretty much kept to myself. I just wanted to be left alone without being bothered. After this experience, I started getting more mean and deliberately antagonistic. It marked the point where I decided that all of them were enemies and I should treat them accordingly. I had never had a "me vs them" mentality before, but this really crystallized things for me. Eventually, I concluded all of society was an enemy and went out of my way to stand out and be different as a point of pride. I still do to some extent, but I do it in more positive ways.

My worst memories involved repetitive behaviors. I was into noise and motion, I didn't realize certain things would break, especially if they were made of glass. Repetitive behaviors got me in a lot of trouble growing up...

I was attracted to certain textures and sounds. I would convince myself that light tapping wasn't enough to harm anything and I would be really careful to make sure any rattling or tapping was done in a gentle way. It was a genuine surprise when something I was being careful with would crack or break.

When I was a kid I was terrified of the dentist. The strong lights in my face, the strange smell and the sounds of the tools were overwhelming for me, and it didn't get much better when the dentist would stuff my mouth with something that was supposed to keep it so widely open that it hurt. I was so overwhelmed and scared that every time I was taken to the dentist I'd scream as loud as I could and try to get away, so they had to have several assistants holding me down while the dentist checked my teeth and did was what necessary, and they had to wear earplugs because I screamed so loudly. Usually the people in the waiting room were really freaked out by all those screams and thought something horrible was happening.

I calmed down around age 9 and started handling dentist appointments better and I haven't had any major issues with the dentist in adulthood, although I still feel very uncomfortable with the light and some of the sounds.

When I think about it, in this particular area, I have advanced so far some rewiring must have went on somewhere in my brain. This is one area of my life that is nothing like it was growing up. I don't have the attraction to certain items like I did then. I am not nearly as clumsy, either.
I also don't have such a strong attraction to moving objects, though, I still like certain motions, like spinning wall dryers at laundry mats, several going at once makes me feel calm and relaxed. I also like watching tree branches swaying in the wind. The attraction to movement isn't as strong but I admit it is still there.