My sister was born in North Dakota where April 15th has the mercury still hovering around something just above absolute zero. My dad was stationed in Minot at a radar installation for his last year of a four year stint with the Air Force. I don't know who you had to piss off to get stationed in Minot, especially after two-and-a-half years in Manilla, Phillipines. Talk about your extremes.
They used to put a blanket on the engine of the car at night, presumably to keep it warm enough so it would start in the morning. One or the other of them would invariably forget it was there, cranking the engine with the blanket still in situ. That thick, general issue field blanket stayed around the house for years afterward, holes and all.
My sister was born into this idyllic winter scene. She was adopted by my parents. I am not sure how old she was, precisely, but she was an infant. My mother says the first few years were pretty quiet. My sister slept well, ate well and had a generally good demeanor.
They escaped Minot for Cleveland, which is a lateral move at best, living in a little old house on Eaton Road that my mother recalls wistfully. They must have been good times. Her parents were still alive and they were raising a child, flush from their double enlistment in the military and both working. The pictures from this time are the ubiquitous orange 1970's patina that we of a certain age remember so fondly. They are all smiles and young and fashionable.
Grand Rapids came into the picture when dad got a job here. I came just shy of two years after that. I, too was adopted. My sister was the first person in my would-be family to hold me. She presented me, (as I hear the story it was somewhat of a surprise), to my parents that day. The pictures from then on are also happy ones, if a little less orange.
We fought like cats and dogs, but we had each others' back as fiercely as any pack animal would. No one could call my sister the things I did and no one could mess with her brother except for her. If I ever had a black eye or drawn blood, rest assured it my sister who inflicted the damage... no one else.
One time, during the long and tempestuous teen years, she "ran away." she made it as far as the back yard shed. Clever. She got locked in. She never was the type to think these things out very far. I found her when bringing her some dinner which I tried to spirit away without my parents noticing. I don't think I did a very good job.
My mother would fuel the flames of our ignominy by making me chapparone when there was a boy over. She would send me down to the basement to check up on them. I would try to be funny and cute... you can imagine how that went over.
One time, my sister asked if I would like to play a game. I of course did. I was 7 and she was 12 and I adored her. She told me to sit at the top of the basement stairs. I did. she sat in front of me, reached her hands behind her and told me to hang on. I thought I was getting a horsey back ride. Instead, she flung me over her back and I went flying head first down the stairs crashing head long into an open door at the bottom. She said that was the Superman game. Perhaps this is why I prefer Batman.
Another time, (it could have been the same day for all I know), she told me to rhyme words with luck. Well, sooner or later I landed on the big one. I had never heard the eff-word before and I certainly didn't utter it with any malice this time. That didn't stop my sister from telling my mom, and my explanations and exhortations did not stop my mom from introducing me to the taste of a bar of soap. It was the first, but would not be the last time I ate soap.
I ate an apple core once as a kid. I was in first grade maybe and she was in sixth. This meant I was in her care until my parents came home from work. She faked like I was going to die because I ate the apple core. She fake called the poison control center while making me follow all sorts of bazaar instructions, ostensibly because it was the only thing I could do to survive. I cried and cried while she played me like a fool.
A year earlier, I had a crush on Amy (last name omitted to protect the innocent). I was in Kindergarten. If I remember right, she was my first kiss. And if I remember right, we kissed a lot. She also liked Jeremy Thompson. They kissed a lot, too. Amy grew up to be a kind and virtuous person having gotten her oats sewn at the early age of five. Anyway, Peggy, my evil sister and a friend of hers faked like Amy called me on the phone and wanted to meet me. They got me all dressed up in my little brown suit. I picked some flowers and we all walked out of the house. It was in the middle of the street that they busted out laughing and I slowly realized I had again been made the butt of the joke.
Sure, there was 52 card pickup and other squabbles that led to me being beaten somehow. But there was a turning point. My parents always told her I would get bigger and stronger than her someday and she better be awfully careful about the ire she was cultivating. This was too enhanced a concept for her until one night when I was 11 or 12. She sucker punched me in the back of the head while I sat on the couch watching TV. She was being cool in front of her friend, who was a co-conspirator in many a prank on me.
I was over the back of that couch and on top of her in less than a heartbeat and I hit her so hard she cracked her head into the corner of the wall and was out like a light. Never before or since have I used my fists in anger. I am absolutely unable to put any strength behind a violent action on another person. This is why on occasion I throw things.
She was ok. It marked the last time we were ever physical.
We became closer over the years, especially after we both left the house. We are confidants now. We don't talk as often as we should because as the years go on, we have less in common. distance and life circumstances keep us from seeing much of each other. we are both childless, so there is no great thrust to spend holidays and things like that together... no milestones to share, no fund raising things to sell.
I can't imagine another sister. Even though she was (and is) so different than the rest of us in the immediate family. You could swear she was adopted... oh yeah, right.
Happy birthday, sis. Thanks for the good times and the bad. I hope you have a wonderful day!
Edit: My mom sent me this to correct the record. Since I don't feel like retyping, I will just add her comments verbatim here at the end.
You haven't been posting your blogs on Facebook but I found them.
A couple of things to clear up............You and Peg were each adopted at age 5 weeks. You are five years and five days apart in age and were adopted in the fifth month. Number 5 is our lucky number.
We were stationed in Angeles City in the the PI, not Manila (different island) and then in Fortuna Air Force station in ND. Minot was a whole city! If you happen to look at a North Dakota map you will see a world of difference.
The little house on Eaton Rd had 5 bedrooms but you can't be faulted for that.........you didn't live there. But it was pretty big. The photos were orange hued tho!
My God, reading that, I am grateful you are both alive!!!
Love you
Mom
No comments:
Post a Comment