Count the Ways

I wish I could say I was the quintessential older sister growing up.  You know, the protector, the confidant, the good example.  It is a miracle my siblings turned out so well, despite my constant harassing and torment.  I could write a novel about the ways I used to torture my brother and sister, but who has the time?  We grew up in a house with 3 children, all 2 ½ years apart in age.  I was the oldest.  Our brother, Grant, was stuck in between two girls.  Our youngest sister, Nikki, came along and I think Grant breathed a sigh of relief that I would someday unleash my wrath on her and focus less on him.  It was almost prophetic.

From a very young age, Nikki was our little guinea pig.  It started around the time she learned to walk.  I would get her to do things for my entertainment.  A puppet or circus monkey, if you will.  I remember putting the Didee Diaper Service pail over her head; empty of course (I’m not a monster…).  The pail went down to her ankles.  I would then spin her around and around then let go and watch her walk into walls or go crashing to the ground.  It was hours of entertainment, and she loved it.  Grant and I would fall to the ground at the same time from laughing so hard.  She would wiggle out of the diaper pail and start to try to put it back over her head.   Of course, I was there to help.

When Nikki was around the same age, I once dared her to put an entire unpeeled orange in her mouth.  By golly, she did it.  It was very impressive.  My mom walked into the kitchen to find Grant and me gawking at Nikki, who was so proud.  I bet she was smiling, but the orange was in the way.   Our mom freaked out, justifiably so, and had to perform an orange-ectomy.  Using a small knife, she sectioned the orange to remove it from Nikki’s mouth, all the while, Nikki was gagging.  Yep, we got in trouble for that one.

As Nikki got a little older, say 4 or 5 years old, it was not as easy to convince her to do silly or foolish acts.  It was at that time the psychological warfare began.  Think back to the early to mid ‘80s.  Remember the “Save the Children” commercial with Sally Strothers?  It was a very depressing advertisement soliciting money for dying children in Africa.  One day, as the commercial was showing a sad bloated little boy with a fly landing on his eyeball, it hit me.  “Nikki, that’s where Mom and Dad got you.”  Of course Nikki was not buying it.  “Really, Nikki.  Look at me and Grant.  We have freckles and light skin.  What do you have?”  She was blessed with olive skin like our father.  Grant chimed in, “Yeah, Nikki.  Mom and Dad got you from Africa. That’s why you don’t look like us.”   Nikki was starting to buy it.  “Mom and Dad sent a check to that lady on the TV to adopt you and the lady sent you here to live with us.”  OK, she was now convinced.  Nikki burst into tears and went running screaming into the other room looking for my mom.  “I’m adopted from Africa?!  Why didn’t you tell me, I’M ADOPTED???”   My poor mother.  She had a heck of a time trying to undo what I had done.  No matter what my mom said, Nikki was NOT buying it.  She even broke out the photos of my parents bringing Nikki home from the hospital.  Not one of my finer moments.

The next year Nikki was so excited to be like the big kids when she started Kindergarten.  She had her Care Bear Trapper Keeper and everything.  Each morning she would go out to the front of the house and wait for her bus.  Her bus driver’s name was Mr. Minnow.  He was a stout, friendly man and the kids all made a song about him to the tune of “Where is Thumbkin”.  Nikki adored Mr. Minnow and always talked about him after school.  How was I not supposed to exploit this situation.  I made up a little verse of my own and it went a little something like this:

Mr Minnow, Mr Minnow

Where are you, Where are you

You are nice and plumpy

I am going to eat you

Drive away, Drive away

Even thought the tune was “Where is Thumbkin”, I used the voice of Phil Anselmo, lead singer for Pantera.  It would scare the daylights out of her.  To this day, if I sing it, she calls me one of the many explicatives in her repertoire.

I had always had a knack for passing blame as well.  Fast forward to the early ‘90s.  My parents would go out of town over night and leave me as guardian over my siblings.  As any responsible teenager would, I threw parties.  Big parties.  So much so, that at my wedding, 10 years later, we, the 3 Pollock children all asked our next door neighbors who had the craziest parties.  They looked at each other, and at the same time said, “Mery.”  At one party in particular, I broke the ½ inch glass top of my parents’ coffee table.    I had jumped on the couch and when I landed, my foot hit the glass, breaking it in two.  I convinced my sister to take the fall for me by saying she and I were wrestling and she broke the table.  I knew she would be in far less trouble than I would have been.  Years later, after a couple libations, I finally confessed, and told my parents what I had done.  I needed to clear Nikki’s name, and my conscience. 

The next year I went away to college and the relationship between my sister and me changed dramatically.  I’m not sure if it’s because I grew up a little being away from home, but something definitely transformed our relationship.  Today she is my best friend.  More often than not, I cannot even make a decision without first consulting her.  I am not saying I always take her advice, but I do always ask.  I’d like to think Nikki has forgiven me for most of my abusive acts in the past, and I am so grateful to have her.  Thank you, Sally Strothers, for bringing her into my life.  I love you, Seester!