Me 'n Patsy

Patsy is my "big" sister, & we love each other as much as or more than any sisters ever did. But that was not always the case. When we were small, Patsy hated me. I knew it & she knew it - Mom & Dad knew it, & probably the rest of the family did too. The only thing we never really knew was, why?

Mom said it was because a miscarriage occured between Patsy & me. The children were evenly spaced out at every 2 years, except for the 4 year gap between the two of us. Mom always said that Patsy was used to being the "baby" of the family & resented me for usurping that role. Maybe so, maybe no. The fact remained, she was vehemently opposed to me from our earliest years, and the ill will persisted most of way through our childhood.

I remember that she would refrain from using my name, preferring to call me "it" most of the time. If we were both going through a tight spot, like a doorway, she would turn to the side & back up against the side, so as not to touch me. Our younger sister was accepted, and Patsy would play with her, but never with me.

Curiously, I don't recall returning her hate when I was little. I didn't even feel too bad about being so intensely disliked, that I remember. It was just the way things were. She never hit me or physically attacked me - I think she just really wanted to avoid any contact, as if she wished I wasn't there.

Patsy loved animals. Of course, all of us also loved animals and we had our share of family pets, especially dogs & parakeets. But it was Patsy who had a special way with critters, and we all recognized that animals bonded & responded to her more eagerly than to the rest of us.

Our most beloved dog was a collie named "Chips." He was a beautiful dog, and closely resembled the famous TV & movie collie, "Lassie." Chips was Patsy's dog. I mean, he was the family dog, & loved us all in his own way. But when Patsy was around, his focus was on her. One day, when I was about 8, that fact was proven to me. Patsy issued this challenge, "He's MY dog & will come to ME. He isn't YOUR dog." "Oh yeah?," I countered. "He's NOT your dog - he's MY dog!" "OK," she said, "We'll see. You take this treat & go to that corner; I'll go to the opposite corner with the same size treat & we'll both call him. We'll see whose dog he is then!" The sad thing was, always the optimist, I really was hoping he'd come to me, but of course, I lost.

As we got older, things stayed pretty much the same from day to day, but I gradually began to feel angry with her. I started fighting back in my own way. I learned that there were many ways that I could exact my revenge - quiet, effective ways...

Patsy was crazy about horses, above all other animals. She had a collection of beautiful china horses which she prized above everything else she owned. They were kept on the bookshelves in her room. Patsy had a room of her own, being the eldest girl, while we two younger ones shared a bedroom.

I used to wait until Patsy was away, then I'd go into her room, just to look (uh huh) around. I thought it was really neat that she had a bedroom of her own, and I really admired those horses! I'd look at them, thinking how pretty they were. Then I'd carefully pick one up, turning it around, marvelling at how delicate it was. I'd take hold of one slender leg & apply just the slightest bit of pressure, thinking, "Wow! It's SO delicate! But I bet it's stronger than it looks. I'm sure it would take quite a bit of - [SNAP] - Oh no! It broke!" It never ceased to amaze me that those little tiny legs couldn't stand up to a little bending!

I'd carefully & oh, so gently place the broken leg under the horse so that it appeared to be complete, & when it was balanced just so, you'd never know it was broken. That is, until you went to pick it up & the leg fell over. Looking back, I realize that I always picked a weight-bearing leg to test. Then I'd beat it back to my own room or somewhere else where I was safe. When Patsy came home, I'd hover near enough to be able to tell that she had picked up the latest crippled horse. She had no problem saying my name then - I'd hear her yell it quite clearly then - "NIKIIIII!" That scene was replayed many times over.

I also became a tattler of major proportions. It was especially effective to "rat" on Patsy to Nana, because I knew that she would probably not bother Mom with reporting the offense, but would just give Patsy "that look" that said, "I know what you did." And she would likely add more chores to Patsy's load while lightening mine a bit. Of course, she would know that I ratted on her, but would be unable to prove it or do much about it, I thought.

But one day I was paid back, and I believe that event was the beginning of the turn-around in our relationship, though it took years to come full circle...

Nana....Part 2

I start out this post thanking God for my family, and my, for the most part, wonderful, "warm & fuzzy" memories. It is always refreshing for me to spend time in the past, dredging up images & events from a fairytale childhood.

I was thinking again of Nana in the night, and how her snappy, brown eyes could telegraph disapproval of an action, yet still convey her love to a disobedient or rambunctious child.

She operated largely in the background of the family, and does not stand out in my mind as a figure of authority to fear, even though she was. But her presence in my life was a warm, quiet, steady influence that I took for granted as always there, always steady & dependable.

Here is just one example of how Nana made a lasting impact on my life:
One Christmas, observing us ripping & tearing with abandon into the knee-deep assortment of gifts & toys we received, she took quiet notice of one box, about 6" square. In it was a pair of twin dolls - a boy & a girl - dressed in matching blue outfits. My sister received a similar pair, dressed in pink. In all of the confusion, we never saw Nana take them both & hide them away. I am ashamed to admit that in the great sea of Christmas excess that was America in the 1950's, we never even missed them!

Then, one quiet rainy day in the summer, when we were bored to be stuck inside & had been good (for a change), she drew them out & gave them back to us. I will never forget my surprise & delight to see them & get them back (even though I had not thought of them since they disappeared on Christmas). But the knowledge that she cared enough about me, & more, that she cared about the dolls & their condition, made them much more special to me. I took very good care of them & I don't think I ever played with them without thinking of Nana & of her special care of them for me!

She had lived a lean, tough life herself, and was therefore full of wisdom & pertinent warnings, such as the one cited yesterday. But she was also Irish to the core, & passed down to us innumerable bits of humor & wit. Most of her quips are blended together in my memory so that not many stand out as coming directly from Nana, but one I remember clearly.

It happened that one day, as children do, I was digging deeply into a nostril with a finger, fully absorbed in the search for whatever was itching or bothering me.... I didn't know Nana was observing me, until she quietly said with a straight face, "That man's dead, you know." Of course, I immediately stopped what I had been doing to inquire, "What man, Nana?" Her straight-faced reply, "The one you're making the pills for."

Nana was second to Mom in the hierarchy of the household & we all learned to respect her authority. That is, while Mom & Dad were around. Unfortunately for Nana, we sometimes took advantage of her gentle nature when our parents were away. I remember my mother telling me of the time she & Dad left us with Nana to babysit while they went out for dinner at the home of some friends. They had only been enroute for about 15 minutes when they had to head back home for Mom's purse, which she had forgotten. Here is the sight that greeted her when she opened the front door, in her own words to me (now remember - there were 5 of us, between about 3 & 12 years of age):

"You were being chased around the room by Patsy, both of you shrieking like banshees. Lauren (the youngest) was climbing up the rungs of the tippy kitchen stool to reach the cookies on the counter. Mike (the oldest) was swinging by his hands from the upstairs floor where the circular staircase were open, & Kit was sliding down the curved bannister at breakneck speed, screaming as if he was on a roller coaster. All was earsplitting chaos & confusion - and there sat poor Mother (Nana) in the middle of the couch - with her arms up over her head & eyes closed tightly, evidently wishing with all her heart that she was anywhere else!"

Growing up in a big family with a grandmother in residence added a rich dimension to my life. As Nana aged, and especially after she broke a hip, we all began to learn how to anticipate her needs. I am grateful for the lessons learned during that time. They came in handy later on, when my own mother, & later my mother-in-law, came to live with us until age & infirmity took them home. Not many people have had real-life courses in the care & nurturing of an elderly family member as I did. Even in the best of circumstances, it can be very challenging, specially when that person is a resident in your home. I have been blessed.

Thank you, Nana, for all your love, patience & humor, and for your forgiveness when we were thoughtless & careless. But most of all, thank you for the lessons you taught us, - the respect for our elders & the caregiving skills you instilled in us. I love you, have not forgotten you, and never will.