Sunday, September 26, 2004

Better Late Than...

Yeah, ok, my sister.

She's four years older.  I am told my parents had us four years apart so that they wouldn't have two kids in college at the same time.  Boy, we messed that one up -- with me skipping a grade and both of us going to grad school.  Heh.

ANYWAY, I've been reading everyone else's stories of accidental (and not-so-accidental) sibling violence and sibling abuse ... and although my sister did give me that scar on my forehead you can still see today, I'd rather tell the tale of the very first time she babysat me.

Mom and Dad left Joyce in charge and I had direct instructions to do what she told me.  Yeah right.  I don't remember what I did, but we hadn't gone too far into the evening when Joyce decided to order me to stay in my room, and I decided not to.

There were no locks on our doors, so once I'd gotten out a few times, Joyce decided to barricade me in my bedroom.  She closed me in my room and started piling stuff outside the door so I couldn't open it.  Toys, games, various small bits of furniture ... they all got piled outside my door, all the while I sat on the floor in my room, crying and begging her not to do this.

And she ignored me and kept piling things.

And when she finished, and was really proud of herself for all the work she'd done, I opened the door and walked out of my room.

She'd forgotten the most important thing -- bedroom doors open inward.

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