I can remember to keep to the left of my younger brothers and sisters, when I was only six or seven. My first memories as it goes back to when we were on the farm, and no electricity. Instead, there was a kerosene lamp on the table, and although I could not turn down the dimmer when we were all in bed, I remember shadows whiffs of smoke at the ceiling and have played a role in my nightmares.
I said that, although I had two younger brothers and sisters, when I was eleven I asked for a new baby sister. When he arrived, shortly after we moved into town, her mom is in my hands, and said: "Here's baby sister prayed for." I was ecstatic. I would get to his love and play with her, and his bosom friend. Oh, we would not have so much together!
Erma became my responsibility most of the time since then. I cooed to her, rocked and sang to her, changed her diaper, a nearly 100% of the time, he loves my kid sister. However, romance is all done run out, and usually I learn to be mature and to see the threat as an adult mom, to swear and insist that it must be so and so, or we'll be in trouble with Mom and Dad. I assume that the effect was greater, because I was often left to preserve, not just Erma, and my two brothers, Ernie and Tommy, and my sister Elsie, who is five years younger than me
There were moments when I ground my teeth and wished I could go outside to play with neighborhood children at the vacant lot across the back alley. If I thought I'd fallen asleep, and laid her in her crib, and went off to play, I might soon expect to hear Mama calling from door to come back. Erma was awake.
loud, I looked forward to all adults. However, there were moments when I wondered why I could not think of the baby girl or carried around in someone's hand.
Now, in later years, especially as I dug into the family history, I made a discovery. I come from a long, long red oldest sisters. This is true. I have a "Big Sister" blood flowing in my veins.
mom had an older brother, but the oldest girl in a family of eleven children. When she was ten her parents had a seventh, a boy. She had to stay home from school to his knees dough for the family weekly bread supply. She was crying in the dough while her father stood over her to make sure it stayed until the dough is the right texture and ready to be set up to demonstrate.
The second way is also to help keep her six years old brother, Jacob, when he had a grand mal seizure and died. There are many other stories that the responsible one.
My life is an echo of Mama's, although I did not experience the pioneering heavy during this period. I am beginning to understand that the special role of strong character, intelligent, mature and loving big sister. But what exactly is our role? Where is the fine line between being a wonderful glue that holds the family together the fragile, as the domineering, manipulative gin that became a big sister?
My grandmother, Elizabeth, was also the eldest brother or sister, and mother, Anna, is the third born, but the first sister died as a child, so she and her older sister next to were very close and shared responsibility when their mother died, and the stepmother was entering my grandmother's father, Maria, was the oldest sister in Spenst family (and my dad first born), and her mother, Elizabeth was the first too, with her mother, only sister of three brothers. You see, I'm from a long line of those older sisters. I just gave you a small sampling.
Now I was wondering,? Does this mean that they have inherited the dominant gene, or there are only a few skills and character traits that are transmitted from one generation to another
Looking around at the friends I have, including one that I settled with my novel, I see that I get along best with people who are also the first Borns, especially the oldest sister. We have similar family values. We understand the importance of rules and we all toe the line. When we start something you finish it.
You know what? I am proud to be an older sister! This is a challenge, but the role suits me now, and I would not want it any other way.
0 komentar:
Posting Komentar