The Little Sister
Being the youngest of three, had its advantages. My sister is several years older than me and I was just wanted her attention, which she didn’t always appreciate. Especially when I used any little excuse to scream for Mommy. I assume it worked pretty well, at least that’s what my sisters tells me.
My memories of this are few. I don’t remember a lot of playing with my sister, I was mostly in the way with her. I do remember standing on my bed on day screaming for Mommy and my sisters fist landing in my gut. I can’t imagine what I did to deserve that. I was such a sweet child. I played a lot more with my brother who was a year and a half older than me. We played with Legos, cars, skating and skateboarded together. Even when I did play with my Barbies, he found a way to interact with me. Apparently, I would also instigate getting him in trouble. As a quiet shy boy, he had quite the temper but it took a lot to get him to his boiling point. I knew exactly what to do and how much to push to get him to blow. On several occasions I remember standing by the open patio door in a ready-to-run stance, as I poked, pushed and prodded either with my words or action, just waiting for him to tip. When he did, I’d take off running, all the way around the house with him closely on my tail. Luckily, we didn’t have a fenced in backyard. My goal was to go all the way around the house and back in the open patio door, run to the bathroom, close and lock it. I also needed to pull the drawers out to block the door, since he knew how to pick the lock. I would sit in there for what felt like forever but was probably only thirty minutes. This gave him time to cool down. That way, when I did come out, his retaliation was minor. The irony was I kind of punished myself, putting myself in a time out, a lock down. Not sure if that was really a win or not but at the time it seemed fun.