Toe Head Chronicles

Two stories shared as one... I wrote these a few years ago. I may add more stories later on.

I had a nickname as a child that I hated. My older sister Paula started calling me by it as soon as my mom brought a box of them into the house for our baby sister, Monica. “Pampers”…  I tried hard to get her back but all I could come up with was "Polly want a cracker?" and that doesn't hit nearly as hard as "Pampers" does.   The only way I could upset Paula was to say it over and over in increasingly louder tones, enticing her to chase me in an attempt to shut me up.

I was a little skinny kid with long legs and was quite fast.  I usually could out run her considering she had 3 years and about 30 pounds on me.  It was my only vice against her.  I would tick her off and run like the wind! I'm sure you can picture my Mom holding a baby, with her older child screaming "Pampers!", and the middle child, me, screaming "Polly want a cracker?!!!"  as we were running through the house at Mach-nine.

Looking back at all the nonsense my mother put up with, I think, "Poor woman". I used to think I was the victim in most of these encounters but now I know better. Since I’m a mom now I have gotten the blessing/curse of having your children be just as challenging as we were back then.

The teasing I received by my sister was just the beginning of my misery.  For years and years I struggled with people being able to, get my goat, as they say. They could say things to me that upset me, just to amuse themselves. I almost never couldn't think quickly enough to come up with a good come back, until after the situation had calmed down.  As painful as it was then, I feel this is where I get the quick wit I have now. I’ve had some training. I have had many years of being around, let's say, interesting people.  These experiences gave me time to think about what I would say back if someone picked on me. Unfortunately now, I am also more mature, and try to not stoop to their levels. I try to keep my filter in place and only let the random snarky comeback occasionally escapes my lips.  Doesn't that beat all?!  I finally have great come backs and I have to let all those comments just bounce around in my mouth as I clench my teeth and smile. 

You can expect a sibling to come up with a tormenting nickname but I was wounded by one nickname that came from my loving Grandmother.  As a child I just didn't understand the meaning of her nickname for me.  Because of how it sounded I was miserable for quite some time. So, what was the nickname you ask?

...

One day my grandmother came to visit.  She came up, hugged me and ran her hand through my silky blonde hair.  I was probably six or seven.  She said, "You are such a cute little Tow head."  "Toe head!" is what I heard.  The smile froze on my face, metal crashed somewhere, or maybe it was just the breaks screeching to a halt in my little brain, and there was complete shock and horror coursing through my body. She called me a TOE head?  I cringed and like clock-work behind me came laughter. It was Paula (10 years old), she didn't even skip a beat . . .

Paula:  "You're a toe head!  You're a toe head!"  She fell down rolling all over the ground laughing.

Me (face red):  Totally wounded, “I am not a toe head!" I gave a panicked look towards my mom, "Mommy, Tell her I am not a toe head!"

My Mom: "Well honey that just means you are blonde, it's a cute endearment."

Me:  "I am not a toe head!  That is NOT a nice name!  That is mean."

My Mom: "Oh no, Pammy, it's not mean.  It's cute" (another horrible nickname Pammy... for the record... Pammy is a 3 year old not a 7 year old or 45 year old).

I couldn't believe it!  They wouldn't take it back!  Then I heard whispers from Paula "Toe head, toe head," snicker snicker. She wiggled her big toe at me, and then made a crazy face.

I glared at Paula.  I would get my revenge.  Not that day but it would come and Paula would pay!

Part 2: Toe Head Justice

I loved my sisters. I truly did.  I looked up to Paula and I loved playing mommy to Monica.  Paula was 3 years older and Monica 6 years younger. I was the middle child. Problem was, and frankly always is, that older siblings don't like younger siblings hanging around, touching their things, and affecting their lives.  I don't know if I just didn't grasp that back then or if I just didn't care.  I wanted to be in and around everything my big sister did and she resented it.  I learned this when Monica started getting older and started cramping my style.

Paula loved to torment me if I bugged her too much.  She loved to hear me get upset.  I still see that same twinkle in her eye now when we talk about these stories and I know she hasn't lost that mischief spark she had 30 years ago.  She got Monica and I good when she hung a sign in our room and took a picture of us sleeping under it.  It said "Mental ward".  She showed all her friends and she laughed about that forever.

Paula also loved changing the facts, for example, Mom told me that when she went into labor with me her water broke in the toilet and so Paula delighted in telling not just me, but everyone else too, that I was born in a toilet! Same twinkle in her eye and snicker, snicker... I fumed.

Another great one was when she said I was adopted because I was the only blonde child in our family. This I took to heart because I did look different.  Everyone in my family had to work hard to convince me I was truly one of their blood.  I laugh now thinking of this.  I look more like Mom than any of my sisters.  We can see more resemblance in each other now that we have grown and matured but back then I didn't look like my family.

But that is not what this story is about, let's bring on the justice. Remember the toe head story?  Yes, wiggle your toe ha ha ha . . .  Yeah.  Now add Pampers, and you’re adopted, and you were born in a toilet and oh yeah . . . Mental ward pictures taken and shared with all her friends. Yep that's my big sis.

Well we moved to NAS Lemore, near Fresno California about a year after the toe head incident.  It was summertime and we had settled into living life in the blazing desert. It was stifling hot in that part of California in the summertime. I am talking 110 degrees!  It felt like it was hotter than 110.

It was a normal hot stifling day.  Mom was on the phone in the kitchen and I had just walked in to get myself something to drink. I was almost 9 and a tad bit smarter than the 7 year old of the toe head days.  I glance around the kitchen and there she is, Paula, standing in front of the open refrigerator.  She had the same idea.  She was thirsty.  She wanted something to drink and she was standing at the refrigerator door letting the cool air blow on her as she searched for a drink.

Mom was chatting away on the phone a few feet away, oblivious to what we are doing. Paula opens the milk jug and tilts it toward her face to take a drink, RIGHT FROM THE JUG!  Now being that I am a good girl, and seeing that mom is currently busy on the phone I feel it is my duty to be Police control in our house.

I walk up to Paula and I am just shocked!  How could she do such a thing?!  She knows this is breaking the rules.  RIGHT?  Yeah, I was thinking that.  Actually I already could see the future, and as wrong as it was, two wrongs just seemed to make a right.  Right?

I had to stop her immediately!  So, I slapped the bottom of the milk jug as she drank and I screamed, "You aren't supposed to drink out of the jug!" This of course caused the milk to splash into her face and down her chest and the inside of the milk lid left a nice pretty round ring of red around her lips.

UHHT' OH!  RUN!...  And it was ON!  I was the roadrunner and she was the coyote and she was going to catch me and beat me to a pulp. I flew around mom who didn't know what happened, I ran into the living room, and flung open the sliding glass door.  I could hear Paula screaming and could smell the smoke coming from her nostrils and ears. (Did I tell you she's a Taurus, I am a Virgo.  I am incapable of mean things.  She is a bull. Bulls can be nasty mean.  Please remember this and don't think badly of me...)

I tore through the yard and out through the fence.  She was on my heels, but my bony little body had no wind resistance, and I could move much faster than her pre-teen body could carry her.  I did a U turn and headed back in, knowing Mom was my only sanctuary. I had to get to Mom quickly and hide behind her.

In I came, Paula right on my heels. Mom was trying to finish her conversation and get off the phone because she knew something was up. She had that furrowed brow look of disapproval... I ran into the kitchen and stood behind Mom. Mom was giving us the 1 finger over the mouth "Shhh" as she continued her call.  Paula was hissing and scratching her foot on the floor ready to charge.  She was soaked in milk and sweaty and had that pretty red ring around her lips. If I weren't scared I would have laughed.  Mom turned away and Paula made her move, she kicked at me as hard as she could!  I jumped out of the way at the very last second and Paula's toes split the cabinet door edge that was open behind me.

BAM! Shriek! SHOCK WAVES...There she was jumping up and down and screaming holding one foot, with milk all over her shirt and the red ring around her mouth.  Did I tell you that it was SO pretty? And as I walked away unscathed... I wiggled my little toe head at her knowing... Justice was served that day.

LONG LIVE the Toe Head!

 

Author's Note

This is written for a writing group that chose two words each week as their subject. the week this was written the two words were Sibling Rivalry. I think I nailed it.