I'm not sure what made me begin to think about siblings. Probably the season has something to do with it. My sister and I had been alienated from our brother for a few years, when he wrote to us this fall to ask if he could begin the process of claiming the house lot our dad had always said he could have. As the split had been over the land that dad left us, it was rather ironic to hear from him about the house lot. However, he is to marry again, and wants to build on the land. Sis and I said fine. We decided long ago that siblings are more important than land or money, but this step had to be made by him. He was just two years old, and I was 8, when I started to read to him regularly. He soaked up any story I was willing to sit long enough to read aloud. By the time he was three, it became my job to read to him each day. (It's funny how something that begins as a favor quickly becomes your responsibility!) When he was four, and we moved into the house that has created the tension among us, Mom was ill again, and couldn't cope with him all day. So, when I got home from school each day, I had to "keep him happy" for at least an hour before I could go play. Now no one has ever accused Tigger of being dumb. It took hardly any time at all for him to be able to tell when that hour was nearly up, and he would begin screaming that I had done some dastardly deed. Sure enough, another half hour would be added onto the hour. I think I would have accepted the hour and a half better if it was just assigned in the first place; I hated that it became a "punishment" for not keeping Tigger happy. As he got older, he began to have trouble learning to read in school, and started stuttering when asked to read aloud. Mom hustled off to school and told them to get off his back. It worked. They left him alone, and with the help of comic books (which I also read diligently to him every day), he began to read by himself. He still wanted me to read aloud to him, however, and by now, I liked doing it. The stuttering stopped, also, although that began again in earnest when Mom died when Tigger was 9. He took her death very hard, and hated that I was left in her place. Nothing would make him angrier than for someone to suggest that I might be his mother. I did look old for my age (I was 15 when she died), but not that old. I remember one time when he was 10, and I was 16, and we went shopping with Dad for a new jacket for Tigger. Dad was still grieving for Mom, and was pretty useless when it came to decisions like jackets, which is why he made me go along. The clerk kept referring to me as "Your Mom", until Tigger had a fullblown, screaming tantrum in the store. As he hadn't had one since he was 4 years old, it was pretty astounding, and effective. We didn't buy a jacket that day. Little Roo was a different story. She came home from the hospital on my 13th birthday, and I claimed as her as mine from day one. Tigger looked in her basket and said to Mom, "She looks better on the outside than she did on the inside!" He could always make us laugh, which could be an annoying habit, by-the-way. Reading to her was a pleasure that I cherished. I would snuggle up on the couch with her, or in Mom's big over-stuffed chair, after Mom died, and read and read and read. Her favorite stories were read over and over. I had had to do this for Tigger, too, but as he was addicted to comic books, it wasn't as pleasureable. Tigger often would hang over the arm of the couch or chair and listen to the stories. Roo, also like Tigger, would reprimand me if I varied from the story even one little bit. Meanwhile, I had always read aloud to the class in our one-room schoolhouse, so those reading skills were being sharpened in several venues. And I still love to read aloud, to anyone who will listen. I read to children, parents, co-workers, DB, my children and grandchildren, and, if I'm in his company, to Tigger. I look forward to seeing him again. I've missed that. I guess this became more about reading aloud than siblings. A footnote: I am a layreader at Church, and I love to read the lessons aloud to my brothers and sisters in the congregation.
I should be ironing DB's clothes for the week, but I just felt like talking to this journal, instead. I put my little tree outside on the porch yesterday, and put the extra lights on the wreath and around the door. Today I finished it up with burgundy bows, gold balls, and burgundy silk flowers. We lit it last night, and it looked festive. Now I'm thinking I'd like a small table-sized tree in the house, after all. We'll see...
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