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Friday, February 25, 2005
I have two sisters, an older one and a younger one. This makes me, not only gender unique among my siblings, but a middle child as well. History dictates that I was screwed from the inception of my meaningless…I mean, fulfilling life. My older sister wasn’t satisfied that I was destined to grow up as a smoldering heap of squalid dysfunction, she had to add a plug-in for my already malfunctioning software.
There was a particular morning that my mother had placed my sister and me in the living room together while she tended her Carol Brady type tasks. My sister was in one corner of the room playing with one of those peg board things with the little mallet and I was in an opposite corner doing whatever it was I did back then.
I was 18 months and my sister was pushing 3 years. Being the eldest child, my sister should have been the mature one but that wasn’t the case on this fine Detroit morning. She was overcome by sibling rivalry. I still don’t understand how I could have been her rival when all I knew how to do was drool, cry, eat, and lounge in my own feces but my ever resourceful sister saw something in me that evaded discernment by everyone else.
My Mother, while in the kitchen, heard me scream and came loping in (as any good non Spock following mother in the early 60s would do). She found me in my corner pitching a hissy fit whilst my sister sat quietly in her corner staring at me with a baffled look on her manipulative mug. Mom calmed me down and went on with her June Cleaver-esque tasks.
I appeared to be a spoiled brat as I began to scream again causing her to drop everything in order to satisfy my need for attention. This time, however, my screams matched pitch and quality of the Smokey Robinson tune playing on the console stereo next to me. (or so I suspect).
Once more, I was in my corner acting like a demon possessed idiot as my scheming devil of a sister sat in her corner like the little angel everyone believed her to be.
Incidentally, this is the same sister that conned me into drinking a pint of gasoline.
So, mom eased my emotions and trotted off to play Harriet Nelson.
Or so we thought…
Mom, cunning as she was…hid around the corner to see what was going on. My sister stood up and walked over to me. Her walk was calm, cold, and calculated like that of a serial killer. She reached my corner of the room and began to beat my head with the little wooden mallet that came with her peg board.
She was intercepted by mom as she skipped merrily back to her corner.
The rest is just a blur but I know I was vindicated.
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