Tuesday, January 6, 2009


Saturday we took my dad to visit with my sister and her family. I hate going out there. It's a long-ass drive and the hospitality is nonexistant. But I was tired of listening to my father nag me about going so I gave in.

My sister and I don't really get along. We never really have. I'm guessing it's because she's 7 years older and just never liked kids. At least that's what she told me when I was younger: "You're the reason I hate kids so much." She went on to have three kids and now there's even a grandbaby living in her home. She still hates kids though. She likes them when they're itty bitty and then when they're self sufficient, but only if they belong to her. Otherwise, she's not a fan of kids. At all.

Anyway, we've never been close. I remember aching for a better relationship at times - especially when watching movies or tv shows where the sisters have this amazingly close relationship... or when perusing the aisle of greeting cards. But we just never had that kind of relationship, sadly.

So we're sitting around on Saturday and somehow S mentions our parents and that - no offense to us - he couldn't really imagine our parents married and together. That's when I told him that with all the remembering I've been doing lately, I don't have any real memories with the two of them together. I can remember times with my dad and/or with my mom, but none with both. I just cannot see the two of them together in my mind's eye, no matter how hard I try.

I mentioned this because I wonder if maybe I'm blocking something out and wanted my sister's perspective since she's 7 years older. She closed her eyes for a moment and completely agreed with me: Our parents didn't really spend much time together.

"I don't even remember them fighting or anything," I said. "I mean, I remember that first day we went back into the house after staying with Oma and Ota and Mama making us hide out upstairs in your bedroom. And I remember her going downstairs when Papa came home and hearing them argue and being completley baffled by their screaming because I hadn't heard it before. And I remember you guys turning the radio louder to drown out the yelling."

I looked at my sister and she smiled. Not a warm, happy smile but a smile to let me know that she was there, that she lived through it too, that we come from the same background.

"You're right," she commented. "They pretty much hid their fighting and arguing and didn't really do anything together."

It's the first time I remember having a conversation about our childhood. Not only was it the first time in 30-plus years, but we actually have the same memories.

It's nice to know I'm not losing my mind and didn't just make shit up about my past... not that there's anything too horrific or magical that happened or anything.


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