Teaching by Example

I was fuming, not so much with what they did, but how I reacted. I felt like a fool. I had acted like a fool, going on a crazy rampage and throwing things. It had been embarrassing. The evening had started out promising, the fellas came over to our apartment to hang out with us. Earlier in the day the girls and I had done our laundry. We never had enough quarters to dry our clothes, I mean a quarter for 12 minutes, come on! So we found a clever solution, we would drape our damp shirts and dripping jeans from our closet door, bed and chairs, and before the end of the night they would be dry.  

As a rule my room was always messy, dry clothes, homework and shoes put in strategic messy piles. So the laundry only added to the kaleidoscope look. As another rule, boys are not suppose to go past the kitchen, heaven forbid they ever look at our room, mine in particular. Jason crossed that line.

I don’t remember how, but I do remember tackling him back into the kitchen. My desperate actions sparked his curiosity so he went back for another look; not just taking a mental picture put a digital picture.

I was horrified. Why would he do that? Then to make his actions more of a jerk-move he sent it to all of his contacts in his address book, are you kidding?! I can’t believe anyone would do that. It’s like a mean girl’s scene from a reality TV show; I mean how low you can get. I went frantic and chased him around the room, screaming and trying to get his phone so I could curb stomp it. But he’s a guy and guys are naturally stronger and I was left with no curb stomped phone. I was sullen the rest of the night. I think the guys caught on, they left early. I went to bed and sulked.

The next morning I was better, I try not to hold grudges overnight, it’s unhealthy. I didn’t see the fellas though for the rest of the week. I needed to apologize for my rampant behavior, I hadn’t acted very lady-like and I needed their forgiveness. Later in the week I had the opportunity to visit with them and apologize for my actions.  They were a little taken aback. They couldn’t understand why I would need to apologize, why I needed their forgiveness; it wasn’t a big deal to them and it happened practically last week. But it was to me, it was how I was raised. Not by my mother, but by my sister. Camille never let a disagreement go for more than 24 hours without coming to apologize. After a fight or an argument, no matter how insignificant, she would always come to me, even if I started it, and ask forgiveness. She taught me through example. It’s a trait I have carried on to my adulthood. I even think it rubbed off on Anne.

Parting of the Ways

We began to go separate ways as school defined us. Camille knew long before her studies that she wanted to be a nurse. So she studied with ambition. Her consistent effort qualified her to take all honor classes and graduate with a ridiculous GPA. I tried to follow her, like I always did, but she outpaced me and I could never keep up with her scholastically. School didn’t come as easy to me as it did to her. We both found middle ground where English literature was concerned. She and I had the same honors teachers throughout our years at El Toro High School. But math and science was the quicksand that pulled me from her carefully laid out trail. So I was left to forge my own trail. It was the parting of the ways for me and my sister. Different path, but same direction.

While she amazed our parent with her frame worthy report cards, I gravitated toward sports. An area she avoided like her own personal quicksand. She had her strengths. She played tennis for two years. I played soccer; all four years of high school. It was an influence outside my sister, and experience completely my own. Growing up Camille played AYSO soccer. Dad coached the team and I would chase down the balls for them. Watching my sister play and waiting for my turn. Later in life, I also played ASYO soccer, but I was soon recruited for a club team and was advanced into the high-strung world of competitive soccer. Weekend tournaments and weekday practices became the constant of my life determining my happiness and defining my person.  I feel it added to my character. It gave me an intense work ethic that I will carry to my grave, and feeling of determination that I don’t see in Camille. We still strive in the same direction, but we are both finding our separate way to get there. If I had to name the main difference in our person, what influenced us the most on our path, it would be intellect for her, soccer for me. We are of the same material, just a different mold.

Not Anymore

“Snip went to get water from the well.”  I bounce my stuffed Siamese cat up and down the  carpet floor, pretending she is walking to the water well. “She fetched the wooden pail from the barn.” I hook her little paw around the twine that held the wooden bucket. Camille and I are so proud of our little props. When we were younger we dressed our animals with washcloths and used pennies as their bowls. As we grew older, we grew more resourceful, using scraps of fabric to create stylish wardrobes for our characters and colored marbles for almost any other prop.  “She met Fetch on the way back, he had flowers for her.” I have Snip scoop up the blue marbles from the “well” with the wooden bucket, then move Fetch into the scene. I hold rolled up pieces of paper in his paws to represent the flowers. I look up to see how Camille will respond to Snip’s and Fetch’s little rendezvous. She is unresponsive, holding her favorite character, Prance, in both hands looking at the cat’s grey and white stripes. I feel in my gut what is going to happen next. I hate this part. I finally set up the story and then she gives up, just when it was getting fun.

            “Mary, are you still having fun?” I’m with her, playing Beanie Babies; of course I’m having fun. But that’s just not what you say to that response.

            “Are you not having fun anymore?” She looks up through her brown bangs.

            “No, not anymore, can we clean up?”

Too Old

“You’ll always play with me? You’ll never be too old?”

“I’m your sister, I’ll always play with you.”

But school was a bigger obstacle than she expected. That, and it was uncool for a middle schooler to play Beanie Babies with her little sister. Camille is always too busy now.  She is constantly doing homework in her room. It use to be our room, but I share with Anne now. I’m not sure I like being the older sister. I'm the last one to go bed, I'm the one answering questions in the night before we fall asleep, I'm the one that is responsible for our messy room. My role has changed and I don’t feel like the same person. I tried to make the best of it, taking Anne to our imaginary stuffed animal world, but she uses her own characters and the stories are different. It’s not the same, there isn’t that connection. She doesn't know our stories, our unspoken rules. I ask Camille to play with me again and sometimes, when she has time, she complies, but it’s not the same for her. The games don’t hold her interest long and we always clean up early.

                Camille had a prolonged childhood because she played with me for so long. I had a shorter childhood because I grew up when she did.

Little Labors

In the hierarchy of siblings, it is said that the oldest forages the path or the younger ones will follow. None of my siblings took similar paths but that’s not to say Camille didn’t do her part, she did more. She pointed us all in the right direction.

             It was the weekly grocery shopping trip with Mommy. We followed her like puppies fetching things for her and entertaining ourselves by trying not to step on the cracks of the square tiles. The end of the trip was the part that held the most anticipation for Sister and me. It’s when we took out all our pennies and nickels from our piggybanks and counted them up to see if we could buy a 33 cent candy bar at the checkout stand. Sister and I would make our bed and help Mommy with the dishes and she would reward us with coins for our little labors. Today… was not my day. I had forgotten to bring my pennies, but I don’t think I had enough anyways. Camille was responsible and hardworking, her pockets were full to bursting with coins. She didn’t just buy a candy bar, she bought a twinke! Those were 77 cents more expensive than a candy bar. I was impressed, and jealous. I pouted all the way home. I helped Mom bring in the groceries, Camille proceeded to the table and unwrapped her twinkies, there was two in a pack. I didn’t say anything. They were hers, but in my heart I was crying at the unfairness. She took a bite of one and the puffy, white cream gooed out the middle. I turned to walk away; I’ll go play by myself.

              “Mary,” her words called me back. “I don’t think I can eat both, do you want the other one?” at that moment in my three year old life, I thought that was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

          

always my sister, always my friend

She popped up and down grabbing a blue egg from the grass a green egg form behind a rock. I bobbled along after her, every now I would squat next to an egg, examine it and place it in my basket.

            “Mary go over there.” Camille points across the yard. I turn to look in the direction she suggested. During this brief lack of immediate attention, Camille takes the opportunity to transfer my few eggs to her basket. I toddle over to a tree and Mom comes to help me catch up to Camille’s almost full basket.

           

            “Mary I’m so sorry.” Camille and I sit on the couch as the family laughs at the home videos of Camille and me in flower dresses and baskets.  I chuckle as my helium baby voice emits squeals of pleasure from the television. The whole thing is just too funny.

            “I was such a bad sister,” Camille continues. I just keep laughing, her apologies make it funnier. That was over 16 years ago and she still feels bad. Of all the things I’ve done to her and she to me, and she still feels guilty about stealing my Easter eggs when I was three.