Teenagers and Babies

Charlotte looks askance at me when I tell stories of climbing trees, playing with snakes and frogs and otherwise portraying myself as a wild tomboy.  There is almost 14 years difference in our ages and she only remembers me as a grown woman.  But between the ages of 14 and 18 we did play together and she will be the first to say that I taught her how to really play with dolls.  It’s true, I played with dolls even into my 20’s, using Charlotte as my excuse.  I loved to create olden day outfits and we would make cute little houses for the Barbies (I didn’t play with baby dolls, just Barbie).  Jeanette had discovered a cute hobby shop once she got married and when I went on visits I would bring home little coal stoves and other olden day things to be used for the Barbie house.  Charlotte learned to make a play/drama in her games which she then taught to her friends (or tried to).

As I noted in my coming of years blog Charlotte was also a burden on occasion when babysitting duty interfered with MY LIFE.  But while it can sometimes rise up in my memory as being overwhelming the reality was we were a family, we were sisters and we all of us fit in together however it had to be.  As a teenager I had my fair share of teenage angst and self-drama but it all went into “the infamous diary”.  I was not a verbal complainer but once I began my diary . . . well, that will be a tale for another time!

Charlotte was a loving child who loved animals and other kids.  In kindergarten her teacher had to stop her from being the little mother to the other children because Charlotte was so eager to help them tie their shoes and button up their coats.   There’s 5 years between Charlotte and Erik so she was also home alone with Mom while the rest of us were at school or work.  I remember the awful day when I got home from school and Mom was shakily trying to find Dad’s work number because Charlotte had fallen and broken her arm.  I took the book away from Mom and made the call while Mom, crazily enough, decided it was imperative that Charlotte had on a clean undershirt before going to the hospital.  I thought she was nuts but I was 17 and making the call so left that alone.  If I remember right Dad had Mom take a cab to the hospital where he met her and we learned afterwards that Charlotte had a serious meltdown panic attack when they went to leave.  She was beside herself (she was barely 4) but it had to be done.  She was in awful pain as the bone had broken in three different places but once she was  home she was pampered to death.

The rest of us kids never had anything happen to us despite climbing hundreds of trees, jumping off bridges or doing a thousand wheelies the worst that happened to us was scabbed knees.  Erik and Charlotte had one disaster after another.  I recall one time coming up the stairs and seeing reflected in the glass Charlotte putting her hand on the stove; she had a Koolaide bag on her hand and it went up in flames.  The blisters she got.  It was another night of wailing and my heart was hardened.  How could she be so silly?  (Hmm, at 4 years old I had put my hand in the wringer-washer and have the scars on my hand even now – but did I remember that then?  Nope.)  Now I am thinking “the worst that happened to us was scabbed knees”?  No, Jeanette had scalding coffee fall on her neck; I had a boiling pot of potatoes fall on my thigh, John had the ship’s swinging door crack his head open . . . how one can forget those bumps and bruises!  Resilience.