DaViD'S iNTeRVeNTioN...
So I wrote this last semester for my creative writing class (which is probably one of my favorite courses. I loved it!) and I’ve always meant to post it here, just kinda forgot about it, haha. So here it is.. read if you wish, I just warn you.. it’s kinda long. =P It was an assignment, so sue me! =)
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“Jennifer! C’mere, your dad is here to pick you up. You’re a big sister now!”
August 22, 1990 I felt very self-righteous because I was leaving my pre-school class to pursue the ever-so-important job title of big sister. No experience necessary, I didn’t know of any immediate benefits or wages, but long-term commitment was a requirement and as far as I knew at that moment, I was prepared.
Siblings. Siblings are in my opinion, one of the best links to one’s past. There are many things you do with a brother or sister that you can’t do quite the same with anyone else. Sharing parents (among many other things, sometimes unwillingly), playing, fighting, joking, tormenting, loving, and above all, having someone else to grow up with in the same exact way that you were brought up.
Being the eldest, I had my parents to myself for a good four years before this little bundle of intrusion entered my life. When we went to the grocery store there was a whole new list of supplies we needed to get. Diapers, baby wipes, pre-form bottle inserts, formula, and little jars of tasty baby food. (I always requested an extra Peach flavored jar for myself). David’s birth introduced a new way of life for us and I didn’t completely understand why this had to be. My parents explained that now there were four of us, and my job as a big sister would be very valuable. They convinced me that this was a good idea.
As a way of making me feel comfortable around this new petite person my mom told me that I could hold him if I wanted to. A large coral colored pillow that smelled of clean laundry was gently placed on my lap as I sat on the couch eagerly awaiting the privilege to hold the fragile, yet massive 8 lb. 9 oz. baby. His miniature hands and fingernails were the first to grab my attention. How could anyone’s fingernails be so tiny? Had they shrunk in the wash like my Garfield nightgown had shrunk a few months prior? After a few minutes of watching him lie there and do absolutely nothing, I grew bored and decided I was done with my sisterly duty for the day. Like most children who are used to being their parents’ one-and-only’s, when I was done with the baby I believed the world should promptly return to its path of revolving around me. That didn’t happen.
Crying, changing, and feeding would take place while I watched and assisted my parents with whatever they let me help with. I was really captivated by my brother’s diaper bag. This specific baby shower gift looked like a blanket that was fashioned in the shape of a house with the roof as the opening. The little blue plaid dwelling had a door, windows, and flowers stitched on the outside to further emulate its house-like qualities. It even included a family of bunny rabbits and a couple pieces of furniture inside. I loved rabbits and I didn’t understand why the new kid got this amazing playhouse, and instead of me being able to enjoy it, we had to use it as a place to carry diapers and bottles. In my opinion, this was an absurd way to waste a perfectly good toy I could very much benefit from. Many times I would empty out the diaper bag and have my way with it, only to find that the moment I stepped away from my perfect bunny universe, it would return to being a stinky old diaper bag.
Many times I found that having David in my life was fairly unpleasant. He cried too much, he smelled funny, he was only entertaining for about a ten-minute period, and he took way too much of mom and dad’s time for my liking. An incident with a face full of urine while I watched the daily diaper change quickly made me realize that something had to be done. I had to liberate myself of this gorilla of a child somehow.
My grandmother was a frequent visitor and she seemed to like being around him a great deal. The most logical thing was that she take him with her and leave me with my parents, the way things were intended. We lived in an apartment that seemed too small for four people to live in and she lived by herself. My offer was merely a noble gesture of generosity towards my grandmother. I didn’t expect her to give me anything in return, I would simply be satisfied seeing her happiness while she enjoyed the company of the little boy she treasured. I told her in confidence that she could keep him and bring him back to us when he was about five years old. (At the age of five, he could be a potential playmate and I didn’t want to miss out on that possibility). This was clearly the best solution for all parties to benefit from.
My clever plan didn’t work. David was still with us and with some more time I was forced to grow accustomed to having him around. He started becoming more and more active. He could salivate wonderfully all over many different objects as a way of marking his territory. He could crawl and laugh and clap and sing his own brand of music. This was a breakthrough because he was definitely more amusing to have around. Maybe now I could eventually have the playmate I had dreamed of!
One of my favorite activities to do with him was to hold his plump little hands and stride with him dictating the steps front of me. He wobbled at first, not really understanding what was going on, but then learned to trust that I wasn’t going to let go, and he was able to put more force into his step. I was like a great puppet master with my own little Pinocchio lacking strings. This endeavor led to him learning how to walk, which I partially take credit for. I felt I was promoted in my position of “sister-because-I-have-no-choice” to “sister-who-made-a-difference”.
When I wasn’t busy with this occupation, I liked to play outside with my friends. Being the tomboy that I am, I played with the boys; from Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers to rolling around on the hills and getting filthy grass stains all over my favorite overalls. One of our preferred activities was to mutilate the trees around our apartment complex. They had these marvelous tissue paper trunks we loved to peel at just because we were able to do so. Fascination with being able to deface this tree to a more vulnerable state made this a mischievous activity to partake in.
David was finally old enough to join the big kids, at least by the porch with my mom’s supervision. I had let one of the older boys borrow my jump rope so he could hold one end and whip it around the tree trunk for the rest of us to jump in and out of. My brother did not see my act of kindness and somewhere in his defensive toddler mind, he had imagined this kid imposed his bigger size and seniority on me to steal my jump rope. He was barely speaking baby language at this time, but the look on his face said: “That’s my sister’s toy, not yours!” (Much like one of the phrases I had to repeat to him many times over. Seems like he finally understood what I meant).
The wobbly two year old with Napoleon complex sauntered up to this guy twice his size and without a second thought took the rope from his hands like he was grasping for his favorite ice cream bar. My valiant brother, mighty rescuer of jump ropes, came to me with the vindication like he had just saved me from a fire-breathing dragon that threatened my life.
My mom had always noticed the distinct way I had acted towards David, prior to his more entertaining stages and had wondered what I would do if I was truly given the opportunity to get rid of him. On a trip to the doctor’s office, she devised an evil plan to test my affection for my brother. After the appointment, we all walked out to go back down the elevator to our car. I ran towards the lobby to be the first to press the button that magically summoned this machine of vertical transportation. The queasy sensation that came from going down the elevator was intriguing because it reminded me of a roller coaster ride I had once been on. As we reached the floor of our destination everyone walked out, except for the unstable toddler who was further immobilized since he probably didn’t quite understand why his stomach felt as if it were in his throat. I couldn’t believe that my parents had disregarded the little man they forced me to tolerate for these last two years.
“You wanted to get rid of him, here’s your chance. We can just leave him in the elevator and we won’t have to worry about him anymore.” My dad nodded in agreement of this devious plan.
Were these words really coming out of my mom’s mouth? Was my dad really committed to this preposterous idea? My instant pallor gave away my fright. I turned around and yanked my brother out of that metal box contraption because it was my turn to save him from the fire-breathing dragon that now stemmed the two heads of my parents.
The severe worry of losing my brother was written all over my face with permanent marker. This paired with my instantaneous retrieval became all the proof my parents needed to know that despite all my acts of first child syndrome, I really had grown fond of the little guy. Of course there was no way my parents actually intended to abandon their child, it was just a cunning way for them to show me a lesson in coming to terms with my true feelings towards my brother. The tormenting ensued with endless reminders of this story for the rest of my childhood. Anytime there was an altercation between David and I, my parents would tell me that the choice had been mine. I could’ve left him in the elevator and I chose not to, so now I had to deal with the repercussions of my decision.
I’ve dealt with my decision for the last fourteen years and I don’t regret it one bit. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had my partner in crime to boss around while we played restaurant, magic show or dance club. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had anyone offer me their mangoes when they were clearly apricots. Had I left him in the elevator there wouldn’t have been anyone to perform the selfless act of immediately offering me his bone marrow if my chemotherapy hadn’t been successful, without a thought to what it would do to him. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had this amazing person to grow close with to share our life experiences in a way only siblings can. It was a big decision I made and now I see the result of it. Having a younger brother has enriched my life in a way that no other life experience could’ve done so. Although I was against it from the start, I’m glad his intervention brought me a life-long friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Jennifer! C’mere, your dad is here to pick you up. You’re a big sister now!”
August 22, 1990 I felt very self-righteous because I was leaving my pre-school class to pursue the ever-so-important job title of big sister. No experience necessary, I didn’t know of any immediate benefits or wages, but long-term commitment was a requirement and as far as I knew at that moment, I was prepared.
Siblings. Siblings are in my opinion, one of the best links to one’s past. There are many things you do with a brother or sister that you can’t do quite the same with anyone else. Sharing parents (among many other things, sometimes unwillingly), playing, fighting, joking, tormenting, loving, and above all, having someone else to grow up with in the same exact way that you were brought up.
Being the eldest, I had my parents to myself for a good four years before this little bundle of intrusion entered my life. When we went to the grocery store there was a whole new list of supplies we needed to get. Diapers, baby wipes, pre-form bottle inserts, formula, and little jars of tasty baby food. (I always requested an extra Peach flavored jar for myself). David’s birth introduced a new way of life for us and I didn’t completely understand why this had to be. My parents explained that now there were four of us, and my job as a big sister would be very valuable. They convinced me that this was a good idea.
As a way of making me feel comfortable around this new petite person my mom told me that I could hold him if I wanted to. A large coral colored pillow that smelled of clean laundry was gently placed on my lap as I sat on the couch eagerly awaiting the privilege to hold the fragile, yet massive 8 lb. 9 oz. baby. His miniature hands and fingernails were the first to grab my attention. How could anyone’s fingernails be so tiny? Had they shrunk in the wash like my Garfield nightgown had shrunk a few months prior? After a few minutes of watching him lie there and do absolutely nothing, I grew bored and decided I was done with my sisterly duty for the day. Like most children who are used to being their parents’ one-and-only’s, when I was done with the baby I believed the world should promptly return to its path of revolving around me. That didn’t happen.
Crying, changing, and feeding would take place while I watched and assisted my parents with whatever they let me help with. I was really captivated by my brother’s diaper bag. This specific baby shower gift looked like a blanket that was fashioned in the shape of a house with the roof as the opening. The little blue plaid dwelling had a door, windows, and flowers stitched on the outside to further emulate its house-like qualities. It even included a family of bunny rabbits and a couple pieces of furniture inside. I loved rabbits and I didn’t understand why the new kid got this amazing playhouse, and instead of me being able to enjoy it, we had to use it as a place to carry diapers and bottles. In my opinion, this was an absurd way to waste a perfectly good toy I could very much benefit from. Many times I would empty out the diaper bag and have my way with it, only to find that the moment I stepped away from my perfect bunny universe, it would return to being a stinky old diaper bag.
Many times I found that having David in my life was fairly unpleasant. He cried too much, he smelled funny, he was only entertaining for about a ten-minute period, and he took way too much of mom and dad’s time for my liking. An incident with a face full of urine while I watched the daily diaper change quickly made me realize that something had to be done. I had to liberate myself of this gorilla of a child somehow.
My grandmother was a frequent visitor and she seemed to like being around him a great deal. The most logical thing was that she take him with her and leave me with my parents, the way things were intended. We lived in an apartment that seemed too small for four people to live in and she lived by herself. My offer was merely a noble gesture of generosity towards my grandmother. I didn’t expect her to give me anything in return, I would simply be satisfied seeing her happiness while she enjoyed the company of the little boy she treasured. I told her in confidence that she could keep him and bring him back to us when he was about five years old. (At the age of five, he could be a potential playmate and I didn’t want to miss out on that possibility). This was clearly the best solution for all parties to benefit from.
My clever plan didn’t work. David was still with us and with some more time I was forced to grow accustomed to having him around. He started becoming more and more active. He could salivate wonderfully all over many different objects as a way of marking his territory. He could crawl and laugh and clap and sing his own brand of music. This was a breakthrough because he was definitely more amusing to have around. Maybe now I could eventually have the playmate I had dreamed of!
One of my favorite activities to do with him was to hold his plump little hands and stride with him dictating the steps front of me. He wobbled at first, not really understanding what was going on, but then learned to trust that I wasn’t going to let go, and he was able to put more force into his step. I was like a great puppet master with my own little Pinocchio lacking strings. This endeavor led to him learning how to walk, which I partially take credit for. I felt I was promoted in my position of “sister-because-I-have-no-choice” to “sister-who-made-a-difference”.
When I wasn’t busy with this occupation, I liked to play outside with my friends. Being the tomboy that I am, I played with the boys; from Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers to rolling around on the hills and getting filthy grass stains all over my favorite overalls. One of our preferred activities was to mutilate the trees around our apartment complex. They had these marvelous tissue paper trunks we loved to peel at just because we were able to do so. Fascination with being able to deface this tree to a more vulnerable state made this a mischievous activity to partake in.
David was finally old enough to join the big kids, at least by the porch with my mom’s supervision. I had let one of the older boys borrow my jump rope so he could hold one end and whip it around the tree trunk for the rest of us to jump in and out of. My brother did not see my act of kindness and somewhere in his defensive toddler mind, he had imagined this kid imposed his bigger size and seniority on me to steal my jump rope. He was barely speaking baby language at this time, but the look on his face said: “That’s my sister’s toy, not yours!” (Much like one of the phrases I had to repeat to him many times over. Seems like he finally understood what I meant).
The wobbly two year old with Napoleon complex sauntered up to this guy twice his size and without a second thought took the rope from his hands like he was grasping for his favorite ice cream bar. My valiant brother, mighty rescuer of jump ropes, came to me with the vindication like he had just saved me from a fire-breathing dragon that threatened my life.
My mom had always noticed the distinct way I had acted towards David, prior to his more entertaining stages and had wondered what I would do if I was truly given the opportunity to get rid of him. On a trip to the doctor’s office, she devised an evil plan to test my affection for my brother. After the appointment, we all walked out to go back down the elevator to our car. I ran towards the lobby to be the first to press the button that magically summoned this machine of vertical transportation. The queasy sensation that came from going down the elevator was intriguing because it reminded me of a roller coaster ride I had once been on. As we reached the floor of our destination everyone walked out, except for the unstable toddler who was further immobilized since he probably didn’t quite understand why his stomach felt as if it were in his throat. I couldn’t believe that my parents had disregarded the little man they forced me to tolerate for these last two years.
“You wanted to get rid of him, here’s your chance. We can just leave him in the elevator and we won’t have to worry about him anymore.” My dad nodded in agreement of this devious plan.
Were these words really coming out of my mom’s mouth? Was my dad really committed to this preposterous idea? My instant pallor gave away my fright. I turned around and yanked my brother out of that metal box contraption because it was my turn to save him from the fire-breathing dragon that now stemmed the two heads of my parents.
The severe worry of losing my brother was written all over my face with permanent marker. This paired with my instantaneous retrieval became all the proof my parents needed to know that despite all my acts of first child syndrome, I really had grown fond of the little guy. Of course there was no way my parents actually intended to abandon their child, it was just a cunning way for them to show me a lesson in coming to terms with my true feelings towards my brother. The tormenting ensued with endless reminders of this story for the rest of my childhood. Anytime there was an altercation between David and I, my parents would tell me that the choice had been mine. I could’ve left him in the elevator and I chose not to, so now I had to deal with the repercussions of my decision.
I’ve dealt with my decision for the last fourteen years and I don’t regret it one bit. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had my partner in crime to boss around while we played restaurant, magic show or dance club. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had anyone offer me their mangoes when they were clearly apricots. Had I left him in the elevator there wouldn’t have been anyone to perform the selfless act of immediately offering me his bone marrow if my chemotherapy hadn’t been successful, without a thought to what it would do to him. Had I left him in the elevator I wouldn’t have had this amazing person to grow close with to share our life experiences in a way only siblings can. It was a big decision I made and now I see the result of it. Having a younger brother has enriched my life in a way that no other life experience could’ve done so. Although I was against it from the start, I’m glad his intervention brought me a life-long friend.