70

The first time I remember anyone speaking with me about my sister, Sharron’s, age was when I was about five.  My parents had visitors at our house and one of the ladies asked who the oldest child was.   Sharron was already in bed so there was no visual comparison to make.

I spoke up and said, “My sister is.”

Mom corrected me and said, “No, you are.”

I protested saying, “No, she is. Her birthday is in April and mine is in May.”  Seemed like simple math to me.  I didn’t take into account that she was born in 1950, and I was born in 1947.  In fact, I’m 759 days older than her.  She turns 70 tomorrow.

When I started writing this blog three years ago, Sharron sent me a text that read, “I was hoping you would write about me.” This is it, so be careful what you wish for.

Sharron is the middle child in our family.  I’m the oldest and my sister, Jackie, is the youngest.  While we all came from the same set of parents, we turned out very different.  We’re morning, noon, and night.  The girls are morning and night.  I’m noon.  We got along like most siblings.

A second early memory of Sharron relates to our dad coming home from work.  He worked long hours delivering Faygo pop.  He was out the door before we got up in the morning, and  he often didn’t return home until we were in bed.  His arrival was a treat.

His routine was always the same.  He came in the side door, sat down on one of three steps that led into the kitchen, and took off his work shoes.  Mom packed his lunch in a black lunch pail, with a thermos of coffee with cream.  Sharron and I met him at the door and hugged his neck as he removed his shoes.  Then we opened the lunch pail.  I can still remember the smell of the coffee as it escaped the pail.

There was always a treat inside.  There may be a cookie, an apple, or half a banana and a piece  of wax paper.  If he ate all is lunch, he’d pick up a small candy treat and place it in the pail for us.  The wax paper was for Mom, so she could wrap his lunch the next day.  They grew up in the depression so there was no wastefulness at our house.

If he got home in time for dinner, we’d all eat together.  If we’d already eaten, he’d sit and eat with Mom while we got ready for bed.  After cleaning up, he’d tuck us in.

If Sharron was writing this story, she’d want me to tell you about “Mean Sally”.  Sally lived two houses down the street from us.  There was a fire hydrant in front of her house.  When we were young, the hydrant was one of our boundaries.  We couldn’t venture past it.   It was fifty feet  south of our property line.  The north  boundary  was the Prested’s porch, twenty-five feet down the street.

Sally was the neighborhood “five year old bully”.  She sent me home crying more than once because I climbed on “her fire hydrant”. One day Sharron disappeared.  Mom searched the neighborhood for her, but couldn’t find her.  “Mean Sally” talked her into coming into her yard, then into her garage, and Sally locked her in.  That was mean indeed.

We didn’t get in trouble very often, but if we did Mom sometimes deferred to Dad for punishment.  I remember getting spanked by Dad twice.  Sharron was involved in both episodes, and if my memory is correct, she was the instigator.  The punishment took place in the bathroom.

Dad sat on the toilet, bent  us over his knee, and took a few whacks.  I started crying and yelling, “I’ll be good!!!  I’ll be good!!!”, before the first blow was struck.  Two or three smacks and I was done.

Sharron refused to cry.  She didn’t react, so she received a greater number of whacks.  When it was over I offered words of advice.  “Just cry and he’ll stop.”  She wouldn’t.

In a perfect world Ruth and I would be driving back to Michigan right now.  We’d make a couple of stops along the way, making sure that we returned by May 2.  Last November Sharron invited Jackie, Ruth, and me, along with our children and grandchildren, to meet at Zender’s in Frankenmuth for dinner.  She’d be buying.  Most of us planned to attend, but the coronavirus had a different plan.

We’re still hunkered down in San Diego and Irvine, California, The Villages, Florida, and Brown City, Mt. Pleasant, Ypsilanti, Hamilton, Kalkaska, and Royal Oak, Michigan.  No one is having chicken dinner at Zender’s.

If you can locate it, I invite you all to raise a glass of Faygo in honor of Sharron’s birthday.  Ruth and I have “Red Pop”.  Let’s shoot for 8:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time tomorrow, April 30th.  I’ll give a shout out to Mom and Dad.  I’m sure they’ll join us.

Cheers!