Sibling Rivalry

I love that it ain’t over till it’s over. There’s something wilfully satisfying about being able to thumb your nose at the doom and gloom-sayers. It’s quite a delicious feeling infact, something smugly satisfying about proving them wrong.

I mean, afterall they are just as likely to rub your nose in it if the tables were turned don’t you think? Of course they would! With glee. My older brother was a typical boy! I always felt like he had it in for me. Of course the years have revealed that he wasn’t anywhere near as mean-spirited as I imagined him to be, it’s just that, well, if I got within three feet of him I always managed to bring out the worst in him. Or so it seemed!

I learnt much later too, he was simply competitive, he liked winning. The thing is, I did too! And we both liked winning against each other. We were both particularly strong-willed children so something had to give. I was just determined it wasn’t going to be me is all.

As teenagers we used to play catch in front of the double garage doors with a softball and catchers mitt. My brother Mac always seemed to get the easy job I thought. Pitching. Me, I was the girl and therefore relegated to the more menial task of being catcher. Mac was a very accurate and fast pitcher. I recall he used to ask me after he’d pitched me some balls whether my fingers hurt. Of course, I’m no shrinking violet, so I yelled back “no!” I was such a story-teller!

Inside the baseball mitt I couldn’t feel my fingers. Mac pitched the ball so hard that they hurt but I wasn’t going to tell him that. No siree! When his arm finally got tired (or sore which ever came first) I’d run inside to put my hands into fiercely cold ice water. So cold infact that it often brought the tears to the back of my eyes.

I could never bend my fingers for hours afterwards because they hurt so much. If only Mac knew that! I can hear him now, “I knew it!” I was never sure what he knew, he’s my older brother! They know everything!