Sisters

The beginning of my life.

My earliest memories are that of being an only child. 

My parents divorced when I was two, and although I have watched the home video of my first birthday, I see the chubby hispanic baby girl with thick dark hair in a lacy white dress with bright red polka dots, laughing and giggling as she is introduced to the camera, and don't feel any emotional attachment to myself in that video. It is as though I am staring at a stranger.

My favorite photos from that time before time really began for me, are of a dark Puerto Rican woman in a tight red dress with a short skirt, holding me up proudly as her first grandchild. Her hair is blown out (it was the 80's after all) and she leans backward awkwardly against the high angle of her stilettos--the image of a woman who is beautiful and she knows it; yet made a grandmother at a young age in spite of herself.

Those initial years are full of fleeting memories. I remember living alone with my mother, Liz Rivera, before she met my stepdad. We had a tiny apartment somewhere near San Jose. She worked as a teacher and I stayed...somewhere, during the day. But at night we would come home and climb the cement staircase to the second floor of the apartment building and enter a dark and mostly empty flat. I remember I had my own child-sized mop, and I would help her clean the kitchen. I recall the way we sat together on the couch sometimes and she would read to me stories with pictures. I remember how much I loved her curly red hair, and wished with all my might that someday I would have red hair too. 

My next favorite family photo is from after Mom married Brad Pettit. It was another holiday season, eight years after the first, and my sister Emily and I lay on the shag carpet of Grandpa Drouillard's living room in Hayward, California. Emily was my third sibling, but the first to live with me and therefore I considered her my "real" sister, although her true parentage made her only half--like the others. Emily was the one who took my "only child" status away from me, and our relationship would forever bear the taint of the resentment I felt at having to give up my bedroom, my own bathroom and spot at the table to a crying, squirming brat who got everything I wanted earlier and easier than I did. 

But when I look back at that first Christmas with Emily at grandpa's house, I feel only fondness for my first true sister, and I remember the feelings of love as strongly as I felt the prick of jealousy then. 

This photo is my favorite because it really expresses my true feelings for the sister at my side--not the resentment I poured over her day after day, but the secret love and jealousy I harbored for the baby of the family who got to live "the good life" while I slaved away in grammar school.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is an amazingly honest story. It's so refreshing becuz of your self-honesty without excuses or trying to pretty up anything. This is what we crave, an honest look at real life. This is where good writing begins, capturing these pivotal moments & feelings. I was the youngest of 9 & your story helps me get a better idea of how my older siblings must've resented me. This is a well-balanced explanation of your childhood impressions (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Coyote Poetry]

A lovely story shared. I liked the history and memories shared. Thank you my friend for sharing the amazing opening chapter.
Coyote

[Einstein Noodle]

not everyone has memories of childhood that young ... you are lucky .. even if they are fleeting and fragmented ...classic sibling rivalry ;) i like the humorous "slaved away in grammar school" ...it certainly felt that way a lot!
E.