What is it like to grow up in a rural town, nearly a million miles from civilization? Frankly, it’s a daily test of patience and the skills learned are immeasurable until you leave and then secretly wish you could go back. Back in time, back to raise your own children, back to a more simpler life.
We grew up on the coast and I might describe it as a little Napoleon Dynamitish, a little bit country, with the rock n roll that came weeks after the rest of civilization receives the top 40 hits. When they say top 40 hit wonders. I think they were talking about the kids who grew up with us…we ‘wondered’ what the top 40 was. Don’t worry they did start receiving the music before moss grew on a rolling stone, but it didn’t all start out that way.
Part of our upbringing comes from being raised in the 70’s and 80’s, and part of it comes from living in a rural community. We lived in a small town, and lived by the ‘duck’ pond in our first house. The duck pond house definitely holds a lot of memories for me. It’s where the beginning of lessons in life and love started. I loved playing outside with my best friend, and we had the time of our lives. I fell in love from afar with a unicycle rider with blue eyes. I remember I shared this with my best friend, and she told my Mom. My Mom razzed me a lot about it. I tried to pretend I didn’t like him so that the razzing would end. But, his mad unicycle skills keep me interested. Did I mention I was 5, and I think he was 14? What?!! It could have been true love. I also found that I adored being at my Grandparents any chance I got. We’d go fishing, hunting, learn about the garden, or eat Doritos. I rode my bike ‘out’ there, they lived ‘out’ of town. I eventually rode a dirt bike, tried riding horses-only to be bucked right off. I used my imagination and played cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians. It’s hard to calculate the amount of people I slaughtered with these experiences. I mean I was a badass cop and cowboy…no rest for those robbers or Indians. In today’s standards I’d be suspended, have no friends, or just be considered a mean child. Thank God for being raised ‘back’ then. At the ‘duck’ pond house I was an only child. I don’t remember much about the only child syndrome effect on me…I’m sure people could weigh in on that topic who knew me Pre-B. But, the ‘duck’ pond house is where I learned I’d have a sibling. I thought it was cool. I wasn’t upset. I was too busy being a kid to sweat the small stuff. Baby showers happened, I was allowed to attend, and thought the gifts were so cute. Little did I know exactly what was going to follow shortly was a terrible, horrible, crying, fussy, loud, cute, sister. Even more disastrous was that for some ungodly reason, as if she had the ‘super’ power to hold the baby in…My Mom to this day says she did it on purpose, my little sister was born on my 6th Birthday. The thing about it was that I didn’t get a cake. I got birthday cake shafted, over my sister being born. What was up with that? Thinking about it right now makes me want to make a request that every time I see B, that she should indefinitely provide me with a birthday cake. That sounds like we could be even once we’re say both in our 80’s? All in all that day ended up being one of the best days of my life, without me even knowing. I carried her around whenever I had the chance, I picked her up when she cried…she baffled me. She was just so pretty and smiling, and happy…it wasn’t until later on when she started to toddle around that she got under my skin.
We moved shortly after the birth of the Birthday Stealer’s birth. We moved to the Chestnut Street house, where we all lived out our childhood years under the wrath of our parents. As the years passed by, I noticed Birthday Cake Stealer was more like the hair particles of that game we played where you had to pull, drag, and position the tiny metal pieces with a ‘wand’ that had a magnet at the end to put the hair, mustache, beard or whatever on that picture of the bald man…anyone know what I’m talking about? Anyhow, she was like that…I resisted and wanted her to leave me alone-she kept at bay, lingering, taking my stuff, and wanting to talk with me (She was a talker! Whoo boy!) . There was this one day in particular where we were out in the yard and she was following me-everywhere. It didn’t matter where I went, even if it wasn’t where she was allowed to go. I would remind her that she wasn’t welcome, nor was she allowed by our parents to go some of these places with me, cause I was bigger and wiser of course. You question the wisdom at this point in time, I was six years older than she. I believe she was 4 years old which would make me 10. I didn’t want to bring her along, she would cramp all of my ten years of style. But, she just wouldn’t listen. So, I ran…she followed. I hid…she found me. It then dawned on me to climb a tree. She can’t climb very well, and she’s too scared even if she went up in the lower branches to climb as high as I can. So, I sprinted to the group of pines in the far corner of the yard. I looked over my shoulder and she was hot on my tail, I’d better book. I made it to the trees, picked the one with the highest branches and climbed as high as I could….I could hear her and her pleas for assistance. I ignored her. Perched high above the ground I sat, and looked down at her. Pleased as punch with myself, I sat there for what seemed like eternity. I found that it wasn’t really any fun and her persistence was quite annoying. (Yes, I know this was mean. I was 10, I don’t do this any longer-gosh! I actually beg my sister for visits these days!) So, I decided she might leave me alone if she couldn’t understand me any longer. How can I confuse her? I started to speak alien. In a alien voice (use your imagination here people,) I said “Ooooo loooooook at the earrrrrrthling. She is weirrrrrd. I hOpe she goes awaaaay reeeeeal soooooon.” Let me tell you from this as firsthand experience, this didn’t work. She kept pleading and trying to lift her leg up, and I found that being in the tree wasn’t all that fun anyhow…my Alien voice didn’t even get her to leave. I climbed down, still ignoring her….and ran for the porch. I got there and you guessed it-she pursued her mean older alien sister to that location. I again used my skills of climbing and found that if I climbed on the banister there was no room for both of us up there as well as she hadn’t mastered her climbing skills…she’d leave after some time right? She didn’t. She stayed there talking, and talking, and talking, and talking…and pushing the extremities of her ‘tune raccoon’. What is a tune raccoon you ask? It was some toy that she drug around everywhere as an inspiring musician. Each part of the body of the raccoon played a different note. She had a music book, color coordinated to the colored dots on the raccoons arms, legs, tummy…and played twinkle, twinkle little star as a four year old would…delayed notes…and talking and talking, and talking. I grabbed that thing and whacked her with it like I was playing whack a mole! I hit her with all of my might! Truth is, if felt super bad immediately following this reaction of rage. The blood curdling scream that followed probably was heard in the neighboring county. Instantly an egg grew on her forehead, something like what we would have watched on Saturday morning cartoons/Looney Tunes where Wiley Coyote gets that egg that grows after the Road Runner does something crazy to him. The front door flung wide open, the eyes of my father were piercing through my body, the veins were sticking out of his neck…as he came to the aid of my bellowing, injured, sister. He asked her what had happened, she didn’t tell him that I had been followed by her for the last however long it was, it seemed like at least a good couple of hours (really it was probably 30 minutes). She didn’t tell him that I asked her nicely to ‘go away’. Nooooo rather she says, “T hit me, very hard and it hurts bad!!!” He stood up from listening to my sister whom I tormented and then caused this excruciating pain to her noggin… asked me, “Is this true.” For what seemed like another good couple of hours of time standing still, face to face (I was still on the banister,) I tried my best to look him in the eyes and said timidly…in a non alien voice… “No”…I thought that my father was going to ‘send me into next week’. Instead, he with-held the violence of a spanking…and sent me to my room. He cared for my sister, and left me to rot in my room, with my thoughts of how I could make it up to her. How I hurt her so badly, and needed to care for her for at least the next 4 years of her life. How if she needed her ‘tune raccoon’, I’d go get it for her and not only that, but I’d like the tune of ‘twinkle, twinkle, little star’ if she were to play it in her version…as darkness fell. She came in. I didn’t know what to say. She came to me and just started talking, and talking, and talking….I apologized and as she is absolutely beautiful today…she was not scared either by a mark on her noggin, nor by the incident that I have cemented in my brain…I can’t even think of a time that I have had the need to speak alien again…I don't recall if I could get a word in edge wise, with her talking, and talking...and talking. So, if I didn't - I'm sorry B for this violent act. I guess we shouldn't play cops and robbers or cowboys and indians after all...
Sibs, sisters…Oh what we do to one another! I watch my own children, and guide them and NEVER speak alien to them when I try to parent them into loving one another…but the truth is- they love one another anyhow…When your sibs, there’s just something magical that happens…even if they’re the stealer of your birthday cake.
Love you B! I pledge to never speak alien again to you, or hit you in the head with a ‘tune raccoon’. Deal? …and you can talk, and talk, and talk to me any chance we get. But, can I ask one thing? Birthday cake? Will you make me birthday cake pops? Dang it! I’ve got to add them to My Fitness Pal! Oooh! Never mind. I’ll love you forever!
Love Deeply, Live out Loud & Live your Dash-
It is a wonder we survive and become who we are... Here's to annoying little sisters who become the best dearest closest friends a mean big sister could ask for
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