Besides, Stephen was more than just a kid with cancer.
You might think that Stephen and I were super-close, considering the time and effort I'm putting into St. Baldrick's on his behalf. That's not really accurate. We were 4 1/2 years apart in age, too large of a gap to really be buddies. He idolized me. He followed me every chance he got. He was a complete and total pest. But he'd do anything I asked of him, just to win my approval. And so, I psychologically tortured that kid whenever the opportunity presented itself.
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| No, you can't play checkers with us! You're a BABY!!! Go away, baby. |
Stephen and I grew up in a family with two working parents, and being the eldest, I became his after-school babysitter, when we were both old enough to be trusted for two hours. One afternoon, bored of watching Diff'rent Strokes re-runs for the umpteenth time, I wandered the house trying to think of something interesting to do. I asked Stephen if he wanted to play "dare."
As in, "I dare you to climb the tree, and touch that branch. No, not that one. That one. Yes, way up there." And then he'd dare me to do something like a handstand. "I dare you to eat a tablespoon of mayonnaise." (Ugh.) And then he'd dare me to eat chocolate syrup, being so much younger and thus, uninventive.
"I dare you to put on this skirt, and this hat, and go and dance in the front yard for ten seconds." Obedient little puppy that he was, on they went, and out the door he went.
I followed him outside, looking at my Swatch with the clear jelly wristband, making sure he put in his full ten seconds. At second number nine, I was struck with a wonderful, inspired, genius idea. I ran inside. Click.
He chased me, and grappled with the locked door handle. It was a warm day, and the screen was in the window, so I was able to speak to him through the mesh. "You know what? I think I left the back door open when you went out to climb the tree."
And flash! He was gone, around the side of the house. This kid was FAST. I mean, fast! His t-ball team had nicknamed him "Rabbit" for this very reason.
However, he wasn't fast enough for me, who only needed to walk a straight line through our 1000 square foot house. I got to the back door and waited. His hand reached out for the handle, and... click.
"You can't lock me out!!! No fair!" he bellowed.
"I'd never lock you out," I replied. "That would be mean. I unlocked the front door for you, and just came back here to tell you." And flash! off he ran again, hat flapping, skirt flying out behind him, around to the front.
I wasn't lying. I really had unlocked the front door. Again, I arrived just a second or two before he did. Click.
He took off for the back again, stepping on the hem of the skirt as the too-big waistband slid down his thighs, tearing it. No matter. I hated skirts anyway. My knobby knees always got scuffed up when I was trying to do ANYTHING fun, and I suddenly had to worry about the way I was sitting. Lady-like? Pshaw.
Can you guess what happened when he arrived at the back door?
Click.
And, flash! Around to the front again, just in time for all of the "cool" high school kids who'd just stepped off of their school bus to see him. I didn't want to be known through the neighborhood as a kid torturer (or more accurately, for any of these witnesses to tell my parents), so I let him inside.
Why he never just took off the skirt and the hat -- I have no idea.
Sorry, Mom, I know you're reading this... I was, uh, trying to teach him creative problem solving skills. And secretly, I think he was loving the attention. :)
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| I'm pretty sure this is THE hat. I'm glad it could be put to good use again, just a few short years after this picture was taken! |
To donate to St. Baldrick's in honor of Stephen, click HERE!
See the blog post on "Binary Voting" for details on how to vote for or against my head shave!
Ah creative older sibling torture. Alas, I was on the receiving end. Love the blog Kathleen, your writing is awesome.
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