Because I was the rose between the thorns, I was never able to be prissy. There was no drama between us, no borrowing of clothes and not giving them back, no stealing each others boyfriends. Though my older brother, Ming, was known to steal my dolls at times. I never got them back without some kind of piercing, tattoo, or amputation but I don't remember ever being too upset by it. That's just what he did.
Little brother, Bunns, preferred mind games. If it was quiet, he would start humming some banal television show theme song, knowing it would get stuck in my head. He still enjoys the mind games. He's a lot like our dad in that way.
When we were growing up, we were just far enough apart that we didn't spend a lot of time playing together. We pretty much had different friends, and were into different activities. Our folks didn't really insist on any kind of family unity either. Dad worked a ton of hours, and mom was into her own things. They did it different for our generation. There wasn't the emphasis on "growing together" or "making memories". The goal was to survive and do your very best not to raise convicts. Rather than saying "I wish my child would........." it was usually "At least my child is not...........". Phrases like "robbing banks", "a drug addict" or "in jail" usually filled that last blank.
But even though we weren't terribly tight when we were younger, as we grew up, we began to appreciate and embrace each others differences. Ming was especially "different", if you know what I mean. Bunns had a very subtle sense of humor. Ming's was downright twisted. Bunns could do things with nothing more than a grin and then just walk away. Ming stuck around to watch your reaction and couldn't help but laugh uproariously at the result, which made whatever he had done even more annoying.
After Ming began to drive, we spent a lot more time together. I wasn't stupid. I never turned down a free ride. Our cousin, Mitzi, introduced us to ice skating when we were very young and we spent HOURS each week at the rink. In fact, I don't even remember the first time I was on skates. Nor do I ever remember not owning my own pair of blades; usually several pairs at a time. It stood to reason that we would both go on to work at the ice rink so that at least we could get paid for being on skates. When I went to work at the rink, I had my own key to the ice arena where we spent so much time. That was pretty convenient, because Ming could drive the Zamboni and refinish the ice floor, so we would spend a good part of the night after closing time skating to our hearts content, and he would refinish the ice so that no one would ever know we were there.
He was also often my ride to the beach. After skating much of the night, going to the beach and sleeping for several hours was pretty great. But it was on our way to a late night skating session that Ming introduced what would become a family tradition that keeps many members in fear during meal time to this very day.
As was often the case, Ming was hungry on our way to the ice rink. He was always hungry. That's why groceries never made it from the bag to the cabinet; they were usually hijacked on the way across the kitchen with only the wrappers left to throw in the trash. So, we stopped at Carl's Jr. to grab a burger. "Eating healthy" was also something we never worried too much about. In fact, sitting across from Ming and eating was just something to be endured. He was just as annoying at other meals as he was at breakfast. I seized anything that would fill my belly and get me away from the table as quickly as possible.
So we sat across from each other, eating big juicy burgers, while I did my best to ignore him, when he very matter of fact-ly, reached across the table, wrapped his hands around mine, and squeezed. "Oh, how nice" you might be thinking. Umm, no. The fact that I was actually HOLDING my burger in my hands, and had taken my attention away from him for a brief moment allowed him to turn my meal to mush. I looked down in horror as I watched my burger squish through my fingers and fall to the table. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. Because he kept my hands locked in his own until he was finished.
So, trying to maintain a little control of a situation that had been completely wrested from my control, I simply called him a jerk, picked up the burger detritus and ate it while he sat across the table and giggled. I secretly hoped he would choke on a fry. He laughed entirely too long.
It was "on". Food was no longer safe. And the trick was to stage a sneak attack and be out of reach before whoever was being attacked knew it was coming. It resulted in 3 children sitting hunched over their plates of food, glancing around suspiciously, always on guard against a hand, or finger landing in their meal.
Bunns is still delightfully paranoid. He won't leave a plate unattended at the table for any reason. If he has to get up from the table, he takes the plate of food with him. And when any of us are within reach, he assumes the age old "hunch" position to protect what is his. The next generation are full fledged participants in this family tradition, and "gen-3" are nearly old enough to be introduced. Just another piece of anarchy that is a part of their legacy.
Now we command you, brethren,
in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that you keep away from every brother who leads an unruly life
and not according to the tradition which you received from us.
For you yourselves know how you ought to follow our example,
because we did not act in an undisciplined manner among you.
2 Thess 3:6-7
Mitzi helping at our first birthday together
Christmas day 1959, just about the time Mitzi started us on skates. Bunns hadn't arrived yet. I don't know why there are 3 Christmas stockings.
Christmas day 1967. Me, Bunns and Ming
No comments:
Post a Comment