Telephone

One of my younger brothers turned 60 a few weeks ago. Just like I received no birthday wishes from either of them last month, I didn’t send any to him. Not because of that though. Plenty of times I’ve picked up the telephone and reached out to him without any mind to reciprocity.

Our relationship struggles go way back. They go back to before he was born. At six years old, I was more than happy with my only child status. I preferred the company of adults and animals. I had my two best girlfriends to play with anytime I wanted, my life was set the way I liked it. One of the adults I loved so much had a puzzling-to-understand seed of an idea, to fan any flames of jealousy and insecurity in me by telling me straight on, “There’s a new baby coming to take your place.” It ignited like wildfire.

The baby’s upcoming arrival put an immediate crimp in my lifestyle. Kindergarten was not yet compulsory in our public school district. There was a six or maybe eight weeks voluntary summer program. There was hesitancy to enroll me because of the uncertainty of when exactly said baby would arrive and where I would be temporarily staying and for how long. I missed out on the first week or two.

There are no pictures of my first or any days of Kindergarten on my mom’s phone. There were no cell phones. We didn’t even have a house phone at the time. With my mother’s hearing impairment, she didn’t think she would be able to hear on a phone. She would find a way, but that would be a couple of years later.

So, on that late spring morning when the baby started to come, I was the telephone.
Mom was out on the back porch, washing our laundry in the electric wringer washer. Laundry was quite the chore back then. She would hand feed the pieces from the washer through the wringer to squeeze out the water, dip them into a big tub of water to rinse, and back through the wringer. The wrung out pieces would be shaken loose, put in a basket, and carried outdoors and hung on a clothesline.

Photo credit: Carly Mackler

I was outside having a fun time swinging on my tree swing when I heard Mom cry out for me. Something was wrong. I ran to her. She was upset about something. She wanted me to run to our neighbor across our shared private gravel driveway and get help. None of this made sense to me. My mother rarely asked me to do anything. My mother would rarely ask anyone for anything. She and Helen were good friends who shared some of their precious little down time with conversation, not activities. Helen was a widow with two teenage sons and had a car of her own. Mom didn’t drive and Dad had driven our car to work on the farm a few miles away.

My task was to run quickly to Helen’s and tell her that Mom’s water had broken.
That made no sense at all. How was Helen going to help with that? I took on the responsibility with zeal and vigor. I ran as fast as I could. I was panting a little when I got to Helen’s. She asked me what I wanted, and just like the message relay game of telephone I put my own spin on things.

“Please, come quickly. My mom needs help. She sent me to get you. Her washing machine broke!”

“What?”

“She’s on the back porch and she’s washing clothes and her washing machine broke!”

My temporary housing during Mom’s stay in the hospital was with Aunt Myrtle. She lived in a small town about 15 miles away. It was pleasant enough. Aunt Myrtle was my father’s aunt. She liked people of all ages and enjoyed helping out wherever she could for her family and friends. I passed the time watching TV, reading, coloring, and shadowing her while she did her housework. We dined on all my favorites. Aunt Myrtle had a different sort of way of doing laundry than Mom, and was a bit overzealous with the bleaching of whites. This resulted in me having a skin rash on parts of my body that made me especially eager to get home to mom and her way of doing things.

Back home the provocations would continue.
“The baby took your place. Daddy has a son now. Soon he’ll be the one to go with him and you’ll get to stay home with Mom.”

That shook me. Dad was a big part of my life. He was the one with the car. He’s the one who took me places and made the mundane trips feel like adventures. Mom needed to pay full attention to the speaker when she conversed, she couldn’t do her work and listen to me. My time with her was my autonomous time. I watched TV, I read books, I colored, I practiced handwriting, I played outdoors, I played with our animals. All of these were great pleasures for me.

Dad listened to me. He taught me things by patiently explaining how they worked. He made suggestions. I felt like he held all I said to him and internalized it. I felt more connected that way. I felt like he understood me better. It hurt to think someone would take my place with Dad.

The new baby held little interest to me. I wasn’t asking to hold him, not that I would have been allowed. There was a new campaign taking place to instill more affection from me for the baby. I was invited to stand near him and get better acquainted. The idea of his baby aura working its magic on my heart.

I stood nearby waiting. He peed in my face. That was funny to others, but not me.
It certainly dampened any baby fever.

The invitations to be near him continued in the form of my mock tending to him as the big sister. I figured out if he cried I would soon be relieved of that duty and Mom would swoop in to take care of him and I could leave. It’s easy to make a baby cry. There are tiny and subtle ways. Take away the pacifier. Poke him. Squeeze his tender thighs. Looking back on this, I realize I was conditioning this new little person to associate pain and displeasure at the very sight of me.

Next would come reverse psychology. Something along the lines of appreciating someone after they are gone.

A few weeks later, when everyone was up to traveling and visiting, we got in the car to go and visit Aunt Myrtle. That’s when Dad came up with a proposal that made my heart sing. We could sell the baby to Aunt Myrtle.

Really?

Now, you’re talking!

What a perfect solution. Our extended family had a few in-family adoptions. Most had happened because of a parent’s sudden death, but divorces and illnesses too. A suitable family member had stepped up and taken full responsibility and eased the family’s distress. The surviving parent was still in the baby’s life. This new idea Dad was offering had the makings of a win-win scenario. It was the best actually, it was absent all the pain and sorrow of death, divorce, and illness.

Genius!

I was all in. Life was looking up!

I was so happy while we were visiting. There seemed to be an increase of the adults whispering and plotting. They likely had to plan out the details of this transaction. Time came to leave with much ado about me bidding the baby goodbye.

“Are you SURE you want to leave him here?”

Were they kidding? This was perfect.

I climbed into the backseat happily. My mind was picturing our futures. This was going to be great. Aunt Myrtle had the baby in her arms and was standing outside the car on Mom’s side. My parents were in the car. Let’s go already! More kisses and goodbyes. Let’s go!

Finally, Dad backed out of the driveway. Backward glances were shot my way. We were driving away. Slowly. Driving away with our car filled with tension. It was palpable. I thought maybe my parents were a little sad about leaving him there. I would have to give them time and show them how wonderful life could be again. Dad kept driving. I looked out the car window. Then he started driving on streets that would take us not home, but back to Aunt Myrtle’s house. I noticed the diaper bag was in the car and thought we were going back for that reason.

That wasn’t it. Now the reverse psychology and the fun and games were over. My parents were upset with me.

“How could you?” They were asking me.

Aunt Myrtle was still outside. In a short while Mom had the baby in her arms and off we drove.
It was all a hoax.

I cried all the way home.

( To Be Continued…)

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