“You were always the favorite,” I said.
My sister Dorothy’s round blue eyes bulged in disbelief.
“But you were the baby and got away with everything,” she retorted.
We sat at her kitchen table drinking coffee and talking over old times. Our children played in the yard more like brothers and sisters than cousins. Dorothy and I lived in the same town and saw each other or spoke on the phone every day. Close all our lives, I never realized she felt jealous of me as a child.
“I could never get away with the stuff you did,” she said.
As the oldest of three, Dorothy took on the role of manager to my brother and me. Andy only one year younger than she, allowed Dorothy to boss him as well. Of course, the nine-year difference between we sisters left no illusion of who was boss.
Relatives and parents never let me forget that Dorothy was pretty, smart, sweet, witty, friendly and obedient. Virtues I apparently lacked. Following in her footsteps at school, I perpetually heard about “how smart your sister is” and “I hope you are as good a student and as well behaved.” Knowing I could never measure up to those standards, I went the other way. Always cutting up, playing pranks, talking, laughing and getting in trouble.
Although I resented the attention my sister got, I also wanted to be like her. I followed her and her friends until they chased me home. I played dress up in her clothes when she went out. I learned all the songs she liked and sang them with her. My imitation of my sister lasted well into my adult years. I went to her for advice throughout my teens. All my life, I sought her approval of my choices. When Dorothy became ill after a stroke, I told her “When I was little, you took care of me. Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” And I did ‘til the day she died.
My brother Andy appeared like the lost soul of our family. He didn’t fit into Dorothy’s group...they were older, and he didn’t fit onto mine...eight years younger. As the middle child and only boy, I think he felt ignored much of the time. Girls are so much more dramatic and require attention. He left home at age eighteen and we saw little of him over the next ten years until he disappeared one day in 1955 and we never saw him again.
Since I’m now an adult, I realize that as a child I got more attention than my siblings; much of it because of the age difference. Mother had more time to spend with me while my brother and sister attended school. That must be why Dorothy thought Mother overindulged me. When my siblings were young and only one year apart, Mother probably felt overworked with two babies to care for. The depression caused money to be either tight or non-existent creating anxiety in the household.
I also realize that the extra attention I got boosted my self-confidence. Dorothy, for all her bossy ways with me, felt very ill at ease with strangers. Her timidity prevented her from introducing herself to a crowded room. So, she avoided such occasions. When she won a “Volunteer of the Year” Trophy, I had to keep it secret from her until the luncheon where R.S.V.P. announced it. Had she known in advance; she would have not attended.
As the youngest, I’ve outlived everyone. I miss them all.
