BAMBOO AND BABIES, a memoir

A story of brotherly love and the consequences of having an adolescent baby sitter.

Vicki, my little sister, is nine years younger than me. The first time I saw her was the day after she was born. My mother held her up to the second-story hospital window, and I saw her from the parking lot. Hospital policy would not allow children of my age into the maternity ward because of the fear of germs I might be caring; therefore, I was banished to the great outdoors.

 

Eight months prior to my hospital visit I can remember my mother coming into my bedroom and telling me that a new brother or sister was on the way. My immediate reaction was excitement; little did I know that in a few years I would be paying this new arrival not to talk.

 

When Vicki came home from the hospital, all the attention was focused on her, including mine. The first time I carried her was from the back bedroom to the living room. My biggest fear was dropping her, or tripping and falling with her in my arms. To prevent this from happening, I sidestepped from the bedroom to the living room, very slowly. A few weeks later this tentative behavior would dissipate.

 

One of the things my little sister most enjoyed was riding in her baby carriage, which I vigorously pushed on a path circumnavigating the house in the process. My sister and I bonded at high speed, me looking down at her, and she looking up at me. As we raced over the rough brick pathway, nothing but giggles would come out of the carriage, and although I was not focused on it at the time, I am sure I had a sizeable grin on my face.

 

The trip around the house was not without hazards, especially at warp speed. Some of the path was on a hill at the backside of the house. There was also a rosebush stretch that could get ugly if things went sour. As it turned out, despite the many obvious dangers, the one that proved to be the biggest threat was particularly obscure and unknown to me.

 

In the far southwest corner of the house was a large bamboo grove that had to be periodically cut back so as not to take over the entire area. Once cut there was left behind short stocks of bamboo sticking out of the ground, very reminiscent of the “pongee sticks” used in the Vietnam war to disable people who would step on them. What made the hazard all the more treacherous, besides the obvious, was the fact that these nasty little bamboo sticks were all but hidden by a low lying ground cover that was competing with the bamboo for space.

 

One morning my little sister and I were racing around the house in our usual pattern, when all of a sudden one of the narrow carriage wheels got stuck between two bricks and my sister went flying. She could not have picked a worse place to take her unscheduled sojourn into the unknown, for directly in her path was the forest of hidden “pongee sticks” with her name written all over them. I realized that I was the one that generated the momentum that was now careening my sister off course and towards disaster. I was RESPONSIBLE!

 

At the actual time of the accident, I didn’t know the bamboo sticks were there. This lack of information probably saved me from having a heart attack on the spot. I quickly ran over to my sister, who was laying on her back engaged in an intense belly laugh. Surrounding her was a sinister bouquet of sharp bamboo sticks. I felt a combination of horror and total relief. The “what might have been” began to enter my mind and I felt awful.

 

I gingerly picked her up and gave her a careful inspection, even though I knew she was all right because of the simile on her face. From that point on, our “wild toad rides” became much more subdued.

Reviews

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

I really liked this story - such love comes out and such amusement at the whole event. I come from a big family and it made me think of all our "accidents" and near disasters! lol..... My own 2 kids were and still are the best of friends - boy & girl. my daughter used to say "Why do all my girlfriends hate their brothers?" I just kept telling her we were lucky .... and I still believe that! Thanks for the sweet story