Final Sale, No Returns, No Exchanges….

I was born the youngest of three girls. I know what you’re thinking…oh man, she’s the baby and must be totally spoiled. But anyone who is the last born knows that your siblings will remind you that you areno more special than anyone else.When I was born, my oldest sister, E, was over having sisters. She wanted a brother. Upon arriving home from the hospital with me, E was given the devastating news that she had another sister. E asked Mom why…why another one?!?!? My mom, not realizing the smart aleck she had on her hands, told E she got to the hospital too late. By the time she got there, they had run out of boys and the only thing left was girls. “So bring her back and exchange her for a boy!” Once realizing that wasn’t going to happen, E took matters into her own hands. She would not have anything to do with me…no holding, no feeding, no watching for a minute while Mom went to bathroom, no anything, for three months. Talk about being creative!

The years went on and E’s creativity showed no signs of slowing down. As a toddler, I insisted on having hot chocolate milk before going to bed. Mom started making E do it. And she hated it….so E cooked up a way to make it stop. E started putting salt in my chocolate milk. Very clever if you ask me….nasty enough to make me not want it anymore but not gross enough to kill me. Another point for E.

When I was nine, I don’t recall what I did to annoy E, but she decided it had to stop. So she hatched up her newest plan. She decided she would convince me she was a vampire. And convince she did. Didn’t I ever wonder why she had pointy vampire teeth? It was so she could bite people better. Didn’t I ever wonder why the kitchen window was always open just a smidge? It was so she could get out and come back in when she turned into a bat. Oh my God!!! How did I miss all of these clues?? My sister was a friggin’ vampire!!!!

Needless to say, I started screaming and my Mom wanted to know what was going on. Picture this…I was facing my Mom and E is behind her. As I tried my best to explain that my sister is a vampire…the fangs, the bat turning, the window, Mom turned to her and yelled “DID YOU TELL YOUR SISTER ALL THOSE THINGS?!?!” She calmly replied “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Maybe she had a bad dream.” She turned back to me and started yelling something about waking her up and that E was not a vampire, and from behind E shrugged her shoulders and smiled sheepishly, her eyes slowly narrowing and filling my nine year old heart with total terror. To this day, aside from the the sparkly faced kind, I cannot watch any vampire flicks. I don’t think I was ever fully convinced she wasn’t a vampire.

Some years later, I was in middle school. E was in finishing up high school and starting college. She was a whiz in science and math, so I pretty much believed whatever she told me. But when she told me raisins are dried up cockroaches, I was old enough to doubt her. She said “So you think your teachers are honest about everything? Gimme a break. If you don’t believe me, just keep eating them and see what happens.” As an adult, I’m not fond of raisins. Gee, I wonder why?

Sometimes it sucks to be the youngest because you never know what kind of shit your siblings will pull. Sometimes, even when they protect you, it’s not meant to be immediately understood. In the winter of the 8th grade, my Dad’s company went on strike. He was in the union, so he had no choice but to go with the flow. We lived in a rent controlled apartment with a slumlord of an owner who did not repair the boiler. No heat, not hot water, and a brutal winter didn’t make for an easy season. There was one particularly harsh storm and I didn’t have boots. My mom chose not to send me to school and told my sister to write a note for me for the next day.

I read it and was mortified. It read “Ms. Sugarman, Please excuse my daughter’s absence.  Her shoes are not waterproof and we cannot afford to buy new new boots right now. Sincerely, _____”. Why did you write this??? I’m gonna get in trouble!!! In my head, this wasn’t a viable excuse at all. E looked at me with narrowed eyes…her vampire eyes…and said “Well it’s the truth. If your teacher has a problem with that, you tell her to come talk to me!” Off I went to school, completely petrified to give my teacher this note. Ms. Sugarman was this older, sour, old maid of a teacher I was convinced ate smart aleck kids for breakfast. She was just a mean old bat. But that was the only note I had so I gave it to her. I stared at her as she read it.
“Who wrote this letter?” she demanded to know.
“My sister, E”.
“How old is she?”
“She’s in high school…she wrote it but my mom signed it”
She looked at the note again and looked right at my feet. I was wearing slush drenched sneakers. She folded up the note, made a mark on my Delaney card, and said “O.k.”

Yesterday was Thanksgiving and my sister L brought over her boyfriend of the last several months. We started telling stories when E mentioned that every horrible prank and story had something to do with her starting it. And sure enough, they all did. When I mentioned the hot chocolate story she said “Well what you don’t know is that I was a 10 year old taking care of your hot chocolate while she was just sitting on the couch”. And she’s right, I don’t know the responsibility of taking care of me. But I did sense an air of emotions that she’s never expressed to Mom. I don’t think Mom understood what was in that note that day. She didn’t realize that E dared to challenge the scariest teacher in school. She didn’t realize the implications, years later, of the letter E wrote for L when L was questioned for repeatedly being on academic probation in college. It may not have been in the typical sense, but Mom taught E how not to accept no for an answer or to take crap from anyone, no matter how much power they had, even if that meant taking crap from Mom herself.

E is now very successful in her own right, personally and professionally. I don’t think Mom has ever said thank you to her for all the stuff she did as the oldest. But in all the successes that E has, I see a little bit of my Mom. And I’m sure, deep down inside, covered by salty hot chocolate, raisins, slushy sneakers, and letters of appeal for academic probation, you are a little thankful to Mom too, despite her less than June Cleaver parenting style. Some things spend so many years unsaid. So for what it’s worth, thanks E, for that and all the other stuff you did for us growing up. And if you still want to trade me for a brother, go ahead and try. But I think mom got me on a final sale, no returns, no exchanges 😉