by JHD, age 6.
"So my young man wants to see his little sister? Ups-a-daisy, here we go!"
I have yet to understand why my father has to resort to such childish phrases whenever he talks to me. Perhaps I should get him a dictionary. But not now, since I actually want to see what all the fuss is about. I allow him to lift me up to the level of the hospital maternity ward window. Then I see her.
"Wow! She's beautiful!"
Dad is very pleased. Till he notices the object of my attentions.
"No silly, that's the nurse."
"Oh."
I redirect my gaze to a spidery form of flesh in a numbered (A24 if I remember correctly) cot. This, I am repeatedly informed, is my little sister. My kith and kin. My flesh and blood. My cue to become vegetarian.
"Isn't she great?"
Unless excitement shares the same genes as shock, it is not a hereditary characteristic. Hope my medical insurance covers psychiatric treatment for trauma.
"You looked just like that, you know."
My father's mind is occupied with memories. Mine is occupied with more forward-looking thoughts, like how much it costs to begin litigation for slander. Is that creature --- the baby this time --- even human? Legs: two --- check. Arms: two --- check. Fingers: it's hiding them --- question mark. Feathers: none --- check. Scales: none --- check. Or maybe scales grow later. Whatever. I'll assume it's human.
"How do you know it's a girl, dad?"
I should remember to ask this question more often. For Dad is dragging me to the hospital kiosk, asking me if I want choco-nut or coconut ice-cream. All thoughts of ugly sisters vanish with the bribe.
Till a couple of days later. Grandma has organized a huge party in honour of the new arrival. Funny, I don't remember any such event for me. I ask mum about it. She laughs and says I was too young to remember.
Too young --- again! I'm always too young --- too young to play basketball with dad, to ride mom's motorbike, to vote ... I bet I'll always be too young. And suddenly I'll find myself like grandpa over there in the corner, too old for anything bar sleeping and sulking.
I turn from his ancient silent form to its opposite --- the baby. My dad and a friend are peering into her cot. Now I know adults are crazy, but they surpass even their own high standards when babies are around. I certainly did not know that words like 'goo-goo-goo' and 'ga-ga-ga' had made it into Chambers. But grown-ups apparently know no other phrases when talking to babies. No wonder this mite is yelling the house down. I consider doing something sane, like discussing nursery school politics with her. Yes. She'd like that.
But before I get to the cot, a herd of rampaging aunties charges in.
"Oh look, she's got her father's eyes~"
"And her mother's hair."
"And her grandfather's ears~"
Unless something drastic has happened in the last twenty-three minutes since I last saw the nameless one, the only thing clear about her is that she's got a ship captain's voice. And in any case, her eyes are constantly shut, her pate is quite bald and covered with a stupid woollen cap which also hides her ears. These aunties must have powers beyond those of mere mortals.
I watch them in horrified fascination. Then amusement. Then disappointment when none of them mention that she's got her brother's left nostril or right eyebrow.
A tap on my shoulder whirls me around. It's Peter. In other words it's my mother's father's third cousin's sister-in-law's brother's grandson. He's bored. I'm bored. We click. We go outside to discuss world affairs. Our world, mind you.
"So did the stork come and leave her?"
"Don't be silly. That's only in cartoons."
"I don't believe you."
"Okay then. She couldn't have come by stork because their trade union is on strike. Something about having to deliver too many fat babies."
I leave it unsaid that Peter was probably one of them. The dig makes him believe me. They say he's a pessimist, which I think means he still pisses in bed. I press the advantage.
"She came by mail-order actually."
"Did you pay by Visa or Mastercard?"
I am taken aback. I was expecting some sort of resistance here, not a new definition of the word 'sucker'.
"You think I ordered her?"
Suddenly a call for two little boys to come and get their ice-cream reaches us. Peter is obviously not on a diet and promptly vanishes. That's when I remember that I wasn't on a diet either.
Jean Diruni (jeandiruni@usa.net) 1998.