Looking back on my life I realize the only reason I survived childhood was through a divine act of God.
Because my brother and sister were actively trying to kill me.
I’m not sure why they abhorred my very existence when we were younger. Perhaps they hated me because I was a rotund child and consumed more food than they did. Perhaps they despised the amount of attention He-Man and Chi-Chi gave me. Perhaps they believed I was a changeling child who disposed of their real sibling and supplanted myself as the baby of the family. I was extraordinarily light-skinned as a baby.
Whatever the reason, from the ages 2-15, Kira and Tim were the wolves and I was the weary elk. Though I can’t remember all of their nefarious schemes to end my life, two stick out the most in my mind.
When I was just old enough to begin standing and walking without help, Chi-Chi took Tim and I grocery shopping with her. We were casually walking down the aisles, me in the shopping carts child seat and Tim holding onto my mother’s hand. As we were shopping, my mother realized she’d forgotten to get something in another aisle. Rather than taking us with her, she told Tim to watch me and ran to the other aisle to grab what she needed.
Unaware of my impending doom, I stood up in the shopping cart and reached towards my loving and adoring big brother. In turn, he kicked the shopping cart down the aisle and sent me crashing to the floor. My mother heard my bawling and quickly returned to find my brother holding me in his arms.
“She stood up in the cart,” he said, with big innocent eyes. “I tried to stop her, but then she slipped and fell.”
My mother bought this story and commended Tim for being such an attentive big brother.
I still believe that taking such a tumble at a young age is the reason why it takes me at least three tries to spell “necessary” correctly.
When I was twelve, my sister nearly choked me to death. It happened in my parents’ room.
She was eighteen and we were both getting ready to graduate high school and elementary school, respectively. It was the year 2000. I insisted that I was graduating in the Class of 2000. She declared that I was not. I begged to differ. She stated that she was graduating in the Class of 2000. I would be graduating in the Class of 2006. To this I replied, “I’m the class of 2000! I’m the class of 2000!” in a sing-song voice.
The next thing I remember was my sister leaping across the room in single bound and wrapping her insanely long and adroit fingers around my neck. She then began to shake my head back and forth. Just as I was thinking that death was perhaps a viable option in a situation such as this, I managed to get my feet on her chest and kick her into my father’s dresser. She looked at me in shock and went running out the room.
My mother then punished me for kicking my sister.
It was a small price to pay for the gift of life.