Growing up with two sibling sisters on either side of me was anything but peaceful. I’m not saying that I wasn’t the cause conflicts, because I probably was most of the time. I knew how to push my sister’s buttons and they knew how to push mine. There were several, countless squabbles, arguments and physical fights throughout my childhood.
I can’t say I remember my first fight, mostly because there were so many. There was, however, one fight that stood above the rest.
It was a warm spring day in Greybull, Wyoming. My mother regularly gave piano lessons to students after school and my siblings and I were required to stay in the basement and keep the noise to a minimum. My mother usually prepared an afternoon snack for us to enjoy while we waited for her to finish her piano lessons.
The snack this day was saltine crackers, peanut butter and some milk. My mother placed my older sister, Rachel, in charge of the snacks. In what still proves to be a troublesome disposition, my nature led me to question and test my sister’s authority and competency as “snack administrator”.
Rachel was insistent on even disbursement of the saltine crackers. I thought I deserved more than was rationed to me. As I took control of the box of crackers, my sister seized my hand and warned me to put the saltines down. I foolishly ignored the command and proceeded to remove the crackers from the box. The next thing I knew, my jaw was rapidly making contact with Rachel’s knee. It was almost slow motion as I watched a chunk of my tooth fly out of my mouth, bounce off my sister’s shirt and land on the floor.
My mother’s piano lessons were definitely interrupted after that. I never again cared to question my sister’s authority and I also permanently lost my appetite for saltine crackers.
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