Never underestimate the depth of greed and full
understanding of a person’s capacity to take advantage of a situation of their
fellow human being when given the opportunity. Ethnicity, socio-economic
standing, political sway, religious faith and age have nothing to do with it.
It’s not wired into our unique genetic blueprints necessarily, but it is a
common characteristic we all possess.
In October 1964 such a person came into my family. Nearly
eight years after me and my equally quirky older brother came ranting into the
world, we suddenly had a new sibling. It was a she – a nearly perfect
biological and well-behaved specimen whose presence never spooked our parents
with episodes of dangerous sleepwalking, accidentally busting out windows with
baseballs; losing baby alligators purchased from F.W. Woolworth’s to roam the
house; faking drowning at the neighborhood pool; and heartlessly turning anthills
into smoldering ruins from the laser-like beams from magnifying glasses
reflecting a blazing hot, Hoosier summer sun.
Her trademark was an ever-present smile or grin. In sunshine and in shadow.
When she was about three-years-old, my parents felt
confident to leave my sister with me and my brother for a few hours as they
gathered to play Clabber or Tripoli with other similarly oppressed neighborhood married
couples. But my older brother soon entered high school and his interests and
pursuits were more varied and hormonal. So the large duty fell to me, which, of
course I didn’t mind all that much, as long as I had my Archie comics and eerie
Danny O’Day ventriloquist dummy for real company.
Already deep into my own burgeoning greed, I learned how
to pack my sister’s cup with so much ice that when we split a 12-ounce
Double-Cola, she would end up with about three ounces of soda. If there were
potato chips, I would neatly count them out like that guy did before Jesus
drop-kicked out of the Temple before Passover: One for you, two for me… One for you, three for me. There you go, now
we’re about even. Isn’t this nice? Need some more ice in your cup?
At the same time, I was fast developing the art of
swiping an occasional Pall Mall or Kent cigarette from my parents. It got more
difficult to hide my puffing from a kindergartener who was pretty much on to my
scam. So we had a deal on most babysitting nights: In exchange for a quarter, I
could huff those purloined smokes. No questions asked. No threat of being
turned in.
By and by, the stakes got higher. On an early December
evening, I somehow stumbled on a Sears Silvertone 12-string guitar, obviously
meant for my Christmas present. The instrument was expertly hidden like the
Holy Grail in their closet, right behind Dad’s sport coats and some other
stuff. Well beyond the means of a 12-year-old kid’s search capabilities.
After discovering this treasure, I felt a sense of
responsibility. So I tuned the guitar and practiced some tunes. I would return
to this ritual a few occasions on nights when the folks were away. Then I finally
got busted by youngest, toughest thug this side of Joe Pesci in Goodfellas.
The extortion rate escalated. I have no idea what it cost
me, but I paid dearly for her silence.
Perhaps as much as fifty cents each
episode. I was in the ultimate adolescent trick bag, shaken down by a shrewd
five-year-old. But what can one do? I didn’t want to disappoint my parents on
Christmas morning by playing a guitar that wasn’t in tune.
In the end, my own greed did me in more than the my little
sister. It didn’t take long for the truth to surface. And we laughed – as we
still do – about it.
In the several decades which have passed, she has moved
on to different and higher-level planes. For years, she has been a great wife,
mother to her two boys, doting daughter to our Mom and friend to all. She burns
more energy and spirit pouring herself into volunteer and outreach activities
than any person I know and always the first person to step up when help is
needed. She’s a well-respected pharmacist whose patients, colleagues and
employees trust without question.
Her name is Kris. But she will always be my “Sis.” And she still wears that trademark grin.
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