The
recent exchanges between Omaha and Jude the Prude on their childhood
interactions reminds me of the time Ed, Kevin and I spoke at our sister Dianne's retirement
roast.
Dianne’s
Retirement Roast
Upon the occasion of Dianne’s
retirement, Ed, Kevin and I were volunteered by Ed’s wife Carol to share some
recollections of growing up with Dianne. Ed told his story about the time
Dianne, as a toddler, wanted to get out of the car as we were slowing down to
go into our driveway. Dad told her to wait, and Dianne decided she wouldn’t
wait. She opened the door and stepped out. Ed, calm as ever, said, “Dad, Dianne
is not with us anymore.”
Kevin told about how Dianne really wanted a sister when she heard she was
getting another sibling. She was very disappointed in Kevin’s gender, but that
did not dissuade her from dressing him up like a girl and attempting to get him
to play tea-party with her.
I prepared the
following:
So, the topic
is what was it like growing up with Dianne, or to be more accurate, growing up
in spite of Dianne. What was Dianne like? Well, the word "bully" comes
to mind. Of course, so does the word "terrorist." That might be too over the top, but it
does contain the gist of it.
To understand
the family dynamic you have to understand that, as a girl with three brothers,
she quickly became the apple of my father's eye. Now, Dianne had two characteristics as
a child—an incredibly short temper and the willingness to inflict pain on
anyone who annoyed her. And everyone seemed to annoy her. I remember that I always found it wise
to know where Dianne was in a room or on a playing field or court. You did not
want her to come at you from behind or from the side.
Dianne was
quite a good athlete, but as a child she was a bit brittle. I remember that she
sustained two injuries in which I was involved. Once she was angry at me for
some reason, and I had jumped on my bike to get away. Now, like many wild
animals, Dianne took the frontal charge approach, bull-charging her way to many
victories. She was three years older than I and many pounds heavier, and
because she hit like a guy, it really hurt when she caught up with me. Well,
this one time she came at me and tackled both me and the bike, breaking her leg
or wrenching her knee or something like that. Later, when Dad was punishing me
for "aggravating your sister" and I complained that she had attacked
me he said I should have 'taken it like a man." Well, I was only about 5,
so that one kind of mystified me.
Another time,
she caught me alone inside one day and pinned me against the wall. I didn’t
know for what transgression, real or imaginary, I was being punished, but it
was clear I was being punished, and it would hurt. I thought I was done for,
but she pulled back a bit to get more weight into the punch (and she had the
weight to put into punches, if you know what I mean) and I got loose enough to
duck her roadhouse right. She ended up missing me completely and hitting the
tv, dislocating her finger. Dad was upset with me over that one too. He gave me
pretty much about the same speech as before, about how I should avoid
aggravating her and “taking it like a man.” Now, until I was 14 or 15, I
thought “taking it like a man” meant letting females beat the crap out of you.
I was always
mystified by how Dianne got away with things with Dad. I mean he was pretty
strict with me, and every time I screwed up, he would be sure to let me have
it. Later, in my teens, every time I broke a law he got incredibly upset. Yet
with Dianne, he seemed to be mesmerized. For instance, the summer of her senior
year in high school, she got a job at an inn at Hampton Beach. Once we went to
visit her and she asked my father to buy her a case of beer so she could use it
when she shampooed to get the salt out of her hair. Now, I was a sophomore in
high school and this set off warning bells in my mind, but, to my amazement,
Dad went out and bought her the beer. After we were in her room at the inn for
a little bit, visiting and delivering her “Shampoo,” a couple of guys came to
the room and hung around. It looked like they were anxious to get to shampooing
to me, and it got a bit awkward, so Mom and Dad and I left.
On the way
home I brought up the fact that Dianne might be tempted to maybe take a few
swigs of that beer before she used it for shampoo and Dad said that she didn't
drink alcohol and that she wouldn't do that anyway. It was to get the salt out
of her hair.
Of course,
Dianne did help me out a few times. For one, she taught me how to smoke. Now I
wasn’t more than 8 or 9 at the time and I had a lot of trouble smoking without
coughing uncontrollably and getting sick. But Dianne showed the patience that
would make her such a great teacher and got me through it.
She also
taught me how to be deceptive. We often needed cigarettes, so Dianne taught me
how to engage Mon and Dad while she brought a chair over and got a pack of
cigarettes from the carton Dad kept on top of the refrigerator.
But she also
taught me how to dance, a skill that served me well in high school.
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So thanks for
that Di.
