Understandably, I am my Mom’s favorite* daughter. Naturally, my sister, Michelle, is terribly jealous of this fact and, to this day, refuses to acknowledge the truth of it. She can be a bit short-sighted in this area, so I have to remind her of my superiority whenever we meet. That’s what keeps us close – our open communication.
Sadly, when we were children, she could be cruel. This is one of the reasons I am superior. I was never cruel.
She will say that I hit her with a chalkboard once. This is true. But, I did this thing, not out of cruelty, but as a warning that chalkboards can hurt your head. I wanted her to avoid walking into a chalkboard on her own someday and suffering irreparable damage. I contest that she never bled or needed emergency care that day, and that she has been wary of chalkboards ever since. A bump is a small price for such a valuable lesson.
Does she appreciate it? Probably not. She can be an ingrate, but I am forgiving of her faults.
As I was saying before, she was an evil child who probably needed an exorcism. I never stuck a cross to her face. I’m sure, if I had, it would have left a big burning scar. But, I can’t change the past , and there is no sense trying it now as she has probably developed an immunity to such things.
The traumatic incident I will relate now is true. No names were changed to protect the innocent. I was the only victim, and no public scrutiny of the matter could be any worse than the horror I have already suffered at their hands. I was about 13 years old at the time:
My cousin Bridget and Michelle locked me out of the house. I was banging on the door trying to get them to see reason with words like, “I’m going to tell. You are both going to be in big trouble when Mom finds out about this.” My sister, apparently in response, popped her head out of the window that was positioned just over the door and promptly poured a gallon of chocolate milk all over me.
I’m pretty sure this happened before the film Carrie was made. I wonder if Stephen King saw my shame and just substituted pig blood for chocolate milk. I guess, to give King credit, the blood looked creepier. What I am certain of is that the chocolate milk was stickier, and it only got worse as it was drying in the sun.
Naturally, I yelled threats and curses. This afforded me no mercy. They retrieved a pitcher of water and doused me with that too. They thought it was hilarious.
So, if you ever doubt man’s inhumanity to man, refer back to this post. I can forgive this now, because I know that Michelle must have felt, not only envious, but somewhat in awe of me.
But, I am concerned that the younger or, shall we say, “tattletale” sibling got away with such atrocities through lies and deceit while the older, more respectable sibling got punished for every little incident in which the younger one suffered head trauma of some sort.
But, I guess this is of no importance when we consider that I am still the favorite.
*My Mother’s “favorite daughter” has always been the one she happens to be with at the time that the “favorite daughter” statement is made. If both my sister and I are visiting her at the same time, she will tell us both alternately that we are the favorite. Mom does not have Alzheimer’s; she is simply dangerously insane.
As everyone knows there are two sides to every story. Well, heres the true side. If being our mothers favorite is a highlight of my sisters life at 36 years old I will try to let her have it without shadowing her glow to much. I must however mention that if in fact she is our mothers favorite why did I always get first pick of everything? Our parents would bring home prizes for us that they had won at church picnics and I got to pick first, ALWAYS. I could be cruel at times I admit it without hesitation. I would allow Debbie to have first choice then when I knew which one she wanted I would take that one. Mom always let me have it because I was “The baby” and of course the favorite. I was sickly as a child so more care had to go into raising me which made me get my way more often then not. I am no longer a sickly child but will always keep “the baby” status so my sibling will one day have to accept the fact that after I was born she no longer existed in the eyes of our mother. If I was a cruel child often it was because my older sister whom I worshiped for many years turned me into a little monster. I was told I was left on the doorstep and Mom didn’t want me but took me in like every stray dog we brought home. I went running to Mom and of course it was a lie. She told me as a toddler I came from a bubble gum machine and I wasn’t what my parents wanted in the machine they just couldn’t put me back. As far as being a tattletale went in our family my sister was the master I learned the trade from. I had write the word slut on a piece of paper and she blackmailed me for weeks. Anytime I didn’t do what she said she would act like she was going to yell for Mom by yelling Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa until I would succumb to whatever mean thing she wanted from me. Mom stayed confused because she never knew why we would start to yell for all the time and want nothing. Debbie did in fact hit me in the head with A Large chalkboard (something over Barbies I think) she also cracked an ashtray over my head. There were too many incidents to actually type those where just two highlights that I could have had stitches for. Being four years younger I was ten before I had a fighting chance then all hell broke lose. The chocolate milk thing was a well thought out plan. We had to combine all of our nickels and dimes to afford an entire gallon of chocolate milk to pour on her. We also had to walk to the store to buy it. What Deb forgot to mention is she could be a pretty bossy big sister and really needed to be knocked down a peg that day after a morning of “being in charge.” She was watching us and had turned into Angelica off Rugrats within minutes of moms departure for work. A few years after that he was also diagnosed with Hypoglycemia (she was in eight grade). I guessed she shouldn’t have had chocolate milk because she had to give up sugar. Anyway she had fainting spills now and then and when she wasn’t getting her way she would fake a spill. If I was watching a TV show and she came in and wanted to change it and I said No she would pretend to be dizzy until my grandmother let her change the TV, then she was HEALED. Lucky for me my Mom caught on and she could only use that trick at our grandparents house. I do acknowledge the fact that she was a huge influence on me growing up in a good way. #1 She made me tuff and taught me problem solving #2 I always had a best friend and was closer to my sister then anyone else in the world. #3 Although I would tell her I wished I had a fat brother named Philip instead she was and is still the wind beneath my wings. #4 She made me memorize poetry before first grade. #5 One of my first bedtime stories was Beowulf and she gave me my love for reading. #6 She gave me a niece that i love more then life and let me stay in the delivery room and watch the miracle happen. #7 Even when I am being crazy or know I am wrong about something I know also know she has my back
#8 I can always talk to her and not be judged just listened to and loved. #9 I am never embarrassed to tell her my best secrets #10 I just really really really love my big sister.