April is home to many little-known holidays. There's "Pig in a Blanket Day." And "Hug a Plumber Day." Also, "Talk Like Shakespeare Day." One holiday I missed, but for which I'd like to atone now, is "National Sibling Day."
I am certain all six of us have very different views of what it was like growing up in our teeny-tiny house. Our individual perspectives are based on where we are in the pecking order and our very unique personalities.
As for me, with a warped, glass-half-empty personality, my memories, strangely enough, are mostly happy. I was #5 in the line-up, and by my mother's account, not planned. In a Catholic family in that era, this was not unusual -- only children were an oddity. An oddity I sometimes envied, particularly when vying for time in the one-and-only bathroom. Our house was one floor, no basement. The attic was partially finished, but not inhabitable. Luckily, my parents had 3 boys and 3 girls, so dividing up the living arrangements was simplified.
Being the second youngest had several advantages. I was able to enjoy the upside of having a big family as a child, without having to deal with it much as a teenager. For example, I got away with a lot more than my older siblings, simply because my parents were pooped by the time I was in high school. Basically, if I didn't get arrested, they were happy. We had a "don't ask, don't tell" relationship at that point.
Back to National Siblings Day...I'd like to take a moment to thank each of my siblings for helping to shape me into the twisted sister I am today. From oldest to youngest...
Gary. Nine years older than I, he was clearly the leader of the pack. (We called it "bossy" back in the day.) He was tasked with teaching us to ride our bikes. ("Get up, that didn't hurt.") He was my big brother, he rode a motorcycle, played in a band, and was adored by girls everywhere. As a youngster, I was smitten with adoration. (I later recovered.) Gary was the rebel. I admire him because he persevered and found his place in the world and made it a better place. And he came to understand that Mac is better than Microsoft.
John. Eight years older that I, he was the Felix Unger to Gary's Oscar Madison. He did well in school. But he had his rebellious streak, too, leaving home to follow a girl to New Jersey. Driving across the country with a buddy. Off to look for America. He is an amazing photographer. He has the gift of capturing people on film, not just their image but their essence. He and Gary were big Beatles fans. Which is how I came to learn the words to every Beatles song. He gave a mean "swirly." I feel confident, however, that I could torment him today without fear of getting one. He'd never be able to lift me, but I'm sure he'd find something witty to say that would do the trick. (Biting wit is a Schrimpf hallmark.)
Diane Seven years older than I. Her love of the outdoors inspired me. I was a Girl Scout for a time. (But there were too many womanly arts taught, not enough camping for my taste, back in the day.) She made snow sculptures of oversized animals, including a turkey and a camel. She kept me in line. She helped to broaden my interest in music and the world. She's a take-charge kind of person, and was a superhero at the end of my parents' lives, seeing to their needs when they could no longer take care of themselves. And yet, when I think of her, I still hear "Tina the Ballerina" playing in my head.
Denise. Four years older than I. Although she was not happy when I arrived, we became very close in my coming-of-age years. We talked in the dark a lot before falling asleep. When she started dating, she was my source for how things really worked. She introduced me to the Downtown Library. She took me to a silent film festival at CSU. She kept me grounded. The classic "middle child." Denise was the sensitive one, which made her a target. But she survived, it made her tougher, and she has a great sense of humor. And I bet, if you ask her, she'll have a nickel to give. She always does.
Paul. Five years younger than I, the other child who was not in the original blueprint. Five years was long enough for me to get used to being the one Mom doted on. Until Paul. Then HE got to go shopping with her while I had to go to school. Although it was shaky for awhile, I got used to having him around, and he was a very good sport about playing all of our games, even the ones with "Barbie" in their names. We found an old tape player and wrote and recorded skits. We'd drag my parents up to the attic to listen to our efforts.When all of the others were grown and had moved on, it was just Paul and me. The other day, as I was singing at the top of my lungs in the car, I remembered how I used to put on my headphones and sing along (loudly) in my room, until Paul would pound on the door and beg me to stop. The world has him to thank for my NOT pursuing a career in music. He and I wrote letters when he was in college. I still have them. He's a very talented writer, and I admire him a lot. (No, I am not crossing my fingers.)
In my family, we are not very demonstrative. We don't talk about our feelings much. I hope I'm not messing up the whole fabric of the universe or anything by saying I love you guys a lot.
Happy (belated) Siblings Day!
No comments:
Post a Comment