Blame

August 16, 2006

I was a golden child, that is until I was about 4.

My sister was born a couple of months after I turned 4 years old. I remember the day she came home from the hospital as clear as if it had just happened yesterday. She was tiny and dainty and blonde. I remember my mom taking her to her bedroom and laying her on the bed and I gently walked in the room behind them. I asked my mom if I could snuggle her and she said yes. It was heaven to me. I had always wanted a sibling because even at a young age I knew I had a big heart and wanted to share it with someone, someone I could take care of.

As time went on though, I noticed some changes. They were subtle at first and probably to most looking in, were just normal transitions when parents bring home a new baby and have to try to shuffle their time between the older kids and the new addition to the family. But the changes I felt were making me doubt myself and making me feel very ‘bottom rung on the ladder’. Even as a young child, I knew things, I was always wiser than my chronological age and although I couldn’t explain it or always articulate it, I felt it.

I was about 6 and my sister 2 when one evening, we were playing under our kitchen table. We had dolls and blankets and other toys, making a mess, giggling and having fun. My sister stood up slightly, and reached her hand up to grab a toy off of the table. But instead of the doll she thought she was reaching for, she had a hold of a big green ashtray full of butts and ashes and pulled it down onto the floor. It made a huge noise and although it didn’t break, it sent ashes and smoked cigarettes flying all over the shit green linoleum.

My mother came running out of the livingroom to see what had happened and immediately looked at me.

“What have you done”?

“Nothing, I didn’t do it mom”.

“Well I know it wasn’t your sister”.

“It really was, she was grabbing for her dollie but grabbed the ashtray by mistake”.

“I don’t believe you. It’s pretty bad when a 6 year old would blame a 2 year old for something she did”.

I sat on the floor under the table, trying so hard not to cry. I could feel my lip quivering and the tears beginning to form but I was pinching my palm, willing myself not to let those tears fall. No matter what I said or how many times I protested my innocence, she wouldn’t believe me. Finally I couldn’t take the steely glare so I spoke up again.

“I’m sorry I knocked the ashtray over. I’ll clean it up. I’ll be more careful next time”.

“Good. And don’t blame your sister again for something she didn’t do. Good sisters don’t do that”.

Things never seemed the same after that. I had nice Christmas’s, birthday’s, sleepovers, all the things that kids dream of but something was missing, something that I think will never come back especially now that 30 plus years have gone by since that incident.

~ Taylor

Posted by Karen Sugarpants @ 2:16 pm