Published in the Fredericton Daily Gleaner, Monday August 15th, 2011
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It’s a wonder my brother and I aren’t maimed, or in jail, or worse, still living in our mother’s basement.
We were not the sharpest tacks in the drawer in our early years.
We hated each other with a passion between the ages of about seven and 14.
Leonard and Theresa: siblings who wrestled together and still love each other - thankfully!
We would hit and scratch and pound on each other regularly. Most of this took place out of eye and earshot of our parents, most of it centred on the other being somehow inferior at that particular moment in time and needing to be punished for it.
In those early “hate” years, when my brother was younger and weaker, I, being the older sister, would regularly put him in his place. For example, when he called me names my response, if parents weren’t around, would be to haul back and give him a good sisterly whack – not hard mind you, but it was still a smack.
As years progressed and he grew stronger, I reverted to name calling and he became the designated hitter.
I don’t think I’m wrong in believing that the sibling fighting and wrestling we participated in during those years possibly made me a little safer. I mean, really, if I can stand up and wrestle with (and sometimes pummel) my brother, I probably wouldn’t be dragged into a car without doing some serious damage to someone.
I have to admit that at times we were barbaric and could be horribly cruel. I look back on some of our skirmishes and openly wonder why we were so horrible to each other. I sometimes think, “That really wasn’t me, was it?”
I think those memories are why I’m in awe of my own children.
I will admit that when my older daughter was an “alien” for a short while during her teen years she did, at times, openly express hatred for her younger siblings. But really those times didn’t last long, and I am thankful to report that overall each of my children truly like one another.
One of Mom's favourite pictures: James and Kathryn happy to see each other after James spent his first week away at camp last summer.
Even on those annoying days where they’re in close quarters, like our mini-van, and one’s driving another one nearly mad with their incessant, “Are we there yet?” or “So and so is staring at me again,” each of them posses the ability to empathize with the one another.
What I love the most about my children and their relationship with each other is how they react when they’re away from each other for any amount of time.
Since Kristen moved out, her younger siblings count the days and hours until she comes home for visits. When she walks through the door, she is ambushed by love. Recently, when James was at Cadet Camp and away for weeks at a time, his little sister couldn’t wait for his return.
Last year when James was at camp for the very first time, Kathryn penned him a little note. On one side of the paper she wrote, “Hi James. I miss you a lot. PS: I’m sleeping in your room.” On the other side, “I love you, Love Kathryn.” She wanted to sleep in his room while he was gone so she “wouldn’t miss him so much.”
That first summer we arrived on base for a two-hour visit after week number one was over. When she caught a glimpse of him coming across the grass to where we were seated in the shade, she ran to James. He was just as excited to see her and lifted Kathryn in the air and hugged her hard.
I was lucky enough to capture the moment. It is by far one of my favourite pictures.
During our short visit James revealed a secret – he had duct-taped her note to the inside of his beret. He had carried his sister’s love with him all week.
Theresa Blackburn is a wife, mother and New Brunswick Community College instructor who lives and writes in Woodstock. You can email her at theresa@mybigfatlife.ca, or join her group, Big Fat Life, on Facebook. You can also follow her on Twitter @MY_BIG_FAT_LIFE
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