Marcie Alana (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mrciealana) wrote,@ 2002-07-25 20:25:00 |
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My Sister
My sister's birthday is Saturday. We haven't lived in the same house now for 25 years, since she was 12 and I was 14. It was, an awkward time for us to go our separate ways -- that age when siblings are probably at their worst to each other. I don't think we ever got along. Oh, it was never anything big, just the usual things between brother and sister.
Brother and sister -- that seems so odd now, but I was raised as a boy. Who knew differently? I always felt that she lured me into trouble, and I'm sure she always felt I was bullying her. I don't really know, though; we've never talked about it. Even at that age I was sunk into depression, and to my eyes, she was wrapped up in trying to express herself.
It's possible my memories of life with our father are warped by the depression and anger that surrounded me then, but I don't think so. We lived with alone with him. He was often gone for a good portion of the weekend and always seemed to be angry when he was home. The only times I remember him being kind where those rare occasions when he wasn't seeing anyone and was drunk (which was not so rare).
He expected the two of us to take care of the house on our own, and cook for him. This had gone one since we "moved in" with him at the ages of 10 and 11. That's a story in itself. We were living with our mother in another state. She'd had a horrible accident, which left us and our stepfather coping on our own. Our father's mother came out to help. I'm really unclear on this, but I remember our mother and stepfather insisting to the school on an earlier visit that that was not allowed to pick us up alone.
With reason it seems. These days there's a great deal of uproar over "Interstate Child Abduction" by non-custodial parents. Back then, no one noticed. She took us to her son, and helped him with us a bit, and then went back to her husband, who was very sick himself. I'm convinced our father never really wanted us there. He's said the courts in his state had awarded him custody, and the state that our mother lived in was not honoring that. That may be the case. I don't know the details, but it all seemed like spite. He had money and she didn't. It was never disputed. But she was also half dead in a hospital bed the last time we saw her.
My sister wanted to run back to our mother, who couldn't even recognize us through the trauma of the car accident when we were spirited away. She convinced me to help her, and we took what money we could find, and left together one night. We got half a mile or so before my fear got the better of me, and I talked her into turning around. She was so very good at getting what she wanted, but this time she didn't.
It was probably for the best too. We were being raised in poverty. The chances of either of us getting anywhere in life were so slim, and years later she told me of things that happened between our stepfather and her. (It's another story, but 15 years after we were taken, I served him his divorce papers. Things might have been different if I'd known then.)
When I was 14, I was sent off rather suddenly to live with my grandmother. Neither my sister nor I got along well with my father, and it had come to a critical point with me. The state was becoming involved, and it was very convenient for me to be living elsewhere. Suddenly. Without notice. I think I was given an hour or two to pack. A period where the phones in the house suddenly stopped working.
And I was gone. I saw her briefly when I came back months later for the rest of my stuff. Neither of us had any urge to write, and we'd never really learned to talk to each other, so the phone was pointless. We went through high school apart, and then college. At holidays, when our grandmother would talk to our father by phone, we'd talk a little. The only meaningful thing that went between us was her letting me know just how little he thought of me. I think I remember her visiting just once while we were in high school. I tried to set her up with a friend. A mistake, but a small one.
After I was married, I visited her once. She was living with her husband-to-be by then. It was interesting to discover that our musical tastes had merged and we seemed to have more in common than we had before, but it was transitory, and I didn't see them again until their wedding.
And then there's a gap of years. About 9 years ago, our grandmother started trying to hold "family Christmases" every couple years. I arrived early and had lunch with my sister. We actually shared our lives. I was divorced by then, she was enmeshed in a busy life of our own, but we talked about feelings, and hopes, and dreams. Things we'd never talked about. And when I left, we didn't talk for another couple years.
It's been like that. I was one of the first people to know she was pregnant, but only because she discovered this during Christmas when we were all together. Our grandmother's given me regular updates over the years, and I'm sure she gives my sister updates as well. During another Christmas we shared a bit about mutual battles with depression, a bonding moment, but one that was never followed up on.
Recently my "changes" have given her a bit of trouble, I think. Her husband has taken it well, but he and I have always gotten along. The last time I had any contact with her was her birthday last year. I sat down and wrote, by hand, a long letter. A chatty letter. A letter talking about what was going on in my life. I know she appreciated it -- our grandmother told me she did.
This year, though I'm already late for the mail, I think I'm going to do more than that. She's going to get a letter, all right, but she's also going to get an email address, and a request for further contact. Our grandmother will not always be there. If we're not going to drift off our separate ways, it's going to be because we've tried.
My sister's birthday is Saturday. We haven't lived in the same house now for 25 years, since she was 12 and I was 14. It was, an awkward time for us to go our separate ways -- that age when siblings are probably at their worst to each other. I don't think we ever got along. Oh, it was never anything big, just the usual things between brother and sister.
Brother and sister -- that seems so odd now, but I was raised as a boy. Who knew differently? I always felt that she lured me into trouble, and I'm sure she always felt I was bullying her. I don't really know, though; we've never talked about it. Even at that age I was sunk into depression, and to my eyes, she was wrapped up in trying to express herself.
It's possible my memories of life with our father are warped by the depression and anger that surrounded me then, but I don't think so. We lived with alone with him. He was often gone for a good portion of the weekend and always seemed to be angry when he was home. The only times I remember him being kind where those rare occasions when he wasn't seeing anyone and was drunk (which was not so rare).
He expected the two of us to take care of the house on our own, and cook for him. This had gone one since we "moved in" with him at the ages of 10 and 11. That's a story in itself. We were living with our mother in another state. She'd had a horrible accident, which left us and our stepfather coping on our own. Our father's mother came out to help. I'm really unclear on this, but I remember our mother and stepfather insisting to the school on an earlier visit that that was not allowed to pick us up alone.
With reason it seems. These days there's a great deal of uproar over "Interstate Child Abduction" by non-custodial parents. Back then, no one noticed. She took us to her son, and helped him with us a bit, and then went back to her husband, who was very sick himself. I'm convinced our father never really wanted us there. He's said the courts in his state had awarded him custody, and the state that our mother lived in was not honoring that. That may be the case. I don't know the details, but it all seemed like spite. He had money and she didn't. It was never disputed. But she was also half dead in a hospital bed the last time we saw her.
My sister wanted to run back to our mother, who couldn't even recognize us through the trauma of the car accident when we were spirited away. She convinced me to help her, and we took what money we could find, and left together one night. We got half a mile or so before my fear got the better of me, and I talked her into turning around. She was so very good at getting what she wanted, but this time she didn't.
It was probably for the best too. We were being raised in poverty. The chances of either of us getting anywhere in life were so slim, and years later she told me of things that happened between our stepfather and her. (It's another story, but 15 years after we were taken, I served him his divorce papers. Things might have been different if I'd known then.)
When I was 14, I was sent off rather suddenly to live with my grandmother. Neither my sister nor I got along well with my father, and it had come to a critical point with me. The state was becoming involved, and it was very convenient for me to be living elsewhere. Suddenly. Without notice. I think I was given an hour or two to pack. A period where the phones in the house suddenly stopped working.
And I was gone. I saw her briefly when I came back months later for the rest of my stuff. Neither of us had any urge to write, and we'd never really learned to talk to each other, so the phone was pointless. We went through high school apart, and then college. At holidays, when our grandmother would talk to our father by phone, we'd talk a little. The only meaningful thing that went between us was her letting me know just how little he thought of me. I think I remember her visiting just once while we were in high school. I tried to set her up with a friend. A mistake, but a small one.
After I was married, I visited her once. She was living with her husband-to-be by then. It was interesting to discover that our musical tastes had merged and we seemed to have more in common than we had before, but it was transitory, and I didn't see them again until their wedding.
And then there's a gap of years. About 9 years ago, our grandmother started trying to hold "family Christmases" every couple years. I arrived early and had lunch with my sister. We actually shared our lives. I was divorced by then, she was enmeshed in a busy life of our own, but we talked about feelings, and hopes, and dreams. Things we'd never talked about. And when I left, we didn't talk for another couple years.
It's been like that. I was one of the first people to know she was pregnant, but only because she discovered this during Christmas when we were all together. Our grandmother's given me regular updates over the years, and I'm sure she gives my sister updates as well. During another Christmas we shared a bit about mutual battles with depression, a bonding moment, but one that was never followed up on.
Recently my "changes" have given her a bit of trouble, I think. Her husband has taken it well, but he and I have always gotten along. The last time I had any contact with her was her birthday last year. I sat down and wrote, by hand, a long letter. A chatty letter. A letter talking about what was going on in my life. I know she appreciated it -- our grandmother told me she did.
This year, though I'm already late for the mail, I think I'm going to do more than that. She's going to get a letter, all right, but she's also going to get an email address, and a request for further contact. Our grandmother will not always be there. If we're not going to drift off our separate ways, it's going to be because we've tried.
