The Greatest Catch!

Growing up with an older brother who adored me had its advantages. I was not only regularly doted upon by him, but was also surrounded by his best friends who, instead of treating me as a constant nuisance, adopted me as their own and doted upon me, too. When building forts, my brother, Brandon, and his friends incorporated my love of princesses, by building me my own throne room, and, as knights, protected me against intruders and dragons. They fetched me my royal tea, my royal Oreo, or my royal kitty without complaint or question, chivalrous to the core.

When ensconced in war, GI Joe permitted my Barbie regular (conjugal) visits at his base camp, and was occasionally seen driving his Jeep around the dusty carpeted roads of our deserted living room.

When wrestling, Brandon and his friends took pleasure in body slamming me, as well as implementing the pile driver and the sleeper hold. Taking pity on my small size, they often allowed me the pleasure of jumping from the top rope (the arm of our couch), and with spaghetti thin limbs flying, tackling them to the ground for the count of three. They even went so far as to dub me THE GOLDEN “A”.

When performing gymnastics in the living room, or on our small patch of front lawn, Brandon and his friends never shied away from acting as judges, holding up their fingers in perfect tens, or, in the rare instance, disappointing eights. I frequently accompanied them to the bike path, creek, and local comic book store, where Brandon introduced me to Dazzler and She-Hulk, women with incredibly liberating powers.

 However, it was playing sports with the boys that I most enjoyed. Though I loved all things girly as a child (including princesses, ballet, and Barbie), I would eagerly drop my tiaras, tutus, and tits for the opportunity to climb trees, navigate the rocks by the creek’s edge, and tackle the boys in a game of football.

Not only did I love these outdoor activities, but I was determined to prove that, despite the differences in our age (five years), size, and sex, I could run, hit, kick, shoot and suffer a beating just as well as any boy, particularly my brother. I unconsciously knew that if I wanted to continue to receive invites into my brother’s world, I would, in fact, have to keep up.

Though my brother and his friends always treated me with respect, it was on a spring day playing baseball with Brandon and one of his best friends, Tommy, that I earned my own special place among them by making the greatest catch in history.

I preferred to be batting, or even pitching, rather than banished to the outfield where balls flew in every direction but my glove. However, complaining was not going to get me what I wanted. Therefore, I stood staring at Brandon and Tommy as they participated in the ritual dance of PITCH, SWING…PITCH, SWING, HIT, and CATCH. The dandelions and clouds were beginning to look more interesting than this game. I could be making wishes and imagining wild worlds made from white stuff. Instead, I stood on the outside, looking in on the fun.

However, just as my impatience with the lack of action I was receiving began to reach a fevered pitch, I heard a CRACK! A loud one! I began frantically searching the cloud-scattered sky for the small white ball. Suddenly spotting it coming in my direction, I began to calculate its exact location and move accordingly. Specifically backward. Back, back, back I went as the ball came closer, and closer. Reaching skyward, I felt the ball hit my glove just as my feet left the ground.

Landing on my back with a THUD, I felt my lungs empty themselves immediately. Gasping for breath, unable to fill my lungs, panic set in, and tears began to wriggle forcefully through my dirt caked tear ducts. Blinking, I gazed skyward to see Brandon and Tommy looming over me, smiles illuminating their faces with excitement. “That was awesome!” My brother exclaimed. Confused and still crying, but now able to breathe, I lifted my head, only to notice that I lay in the playground that bordered the baseball field, having tripped over the curb that separated the two. My glove, still firmly situated on my hand, encased the baseball. “That had to be the greatest catch ever!” my brother shouted, while grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet. Still shaken, and bleeding from my elbows, tears continued to stream down my face while joy began seeping into my conscious.

Brandon and Tommy continued to emote while lifting me onto their shoulders. With shouts and cheers of exhilarating disbelief, the two carried me home straddling their shoulders, while I laughed and cried the whole way. For the rest of the day, we animatedly recalled the events leading up the catch, as well as the catch itself. I fell into bed that evening exhausted, yet deeply gratified.

As I grew older, Brandon and his friends, continued to include me in their daily activities. I frequently found myself standing in the outfield during baseball games. Though I was never able to make another catch of the same caliber, I was able to earn my place among Brandon and his friends; a place one-step above annoying little sister.

Ants, Vampires, Monsters, and The Hand...Longing for Childhood Fears

My brother, Brandon, loved horror movies as a preteen and teenager. He would frequently watch them with our babysitter, Tracey, while I would do everything in my power to avoid seeing or hearing such nightmarish material by exiting the premises and riding my bike or roller-skating in the driveway. However, when hunger or the toilet called I was forced to make my way back inside, frequently catching bits and pieces of blood, guts, and ear shattering screams that sent me scrambling from the house in terror. Nightmare on Elm Street was the popular movie of the day. A movie that Brandon felt compelled to terrorize me with by describing the characters and plot in detail. For years, I avoided the basement steps at the school near our house where we frequently played because I was convinced that Freddy Kruger lurked just behind the basement doors, waiting to pounce on me without a moments notice.

When my mother became aware of Tracey’s poor supervision, firing her, and putting an end to horror movies, Brandon turned to telling me terrifying stories. He told me the story of a woman who, when sleeping, had ants crawl up her nose and lay eggs in her nasal cavity. The woman remained completely unaware of the creatures festering in her face, until the eggs began hatching, ultimately killing her. For years, I avoided sleeping on my back and favored my side in the hopes that ants would slide out of my nose before having the opportunity to embed their eggs in my nasal cavity.

I also slept in my daybed facing the wall in order to ward off the monster-like hand that my brother informed me lurked below, ready to grab me should I lower my defenses, allowing it the opportunity to strike. My bedroom door and closet doors remained open and well lit throughout the night in order to ward off the demons and monsters that lurked in the shadows.  I often clutched rosary beads beneath the blankets, which I pulled to my ears, securely covering my neck, to ward off blood sucking vampires and the Devil, who was always anxious to steal my soul. The rituals of brushing my teeth, washing my face, donning my pajamas, picking books for my parents to read, and receiving kisses, were also accompanied by blowing my nose, peaking under my bed, squinting into the dark recesses of my closet, and uttering prayers for protection and grace. Though bedtime was often stressful, sleep was mostly peaceful.

Three or four nights ago, I had a nightmare of such realistic proportions that I awoke to tears etching paths down my cheeks and a cloud of fear hovering above me much of the day. Images from the dream, so real and frightening presented themselves as anxiety producing flashbulbs in my brain rendering me immobile. For the first time, I wished my brother were present to tell me far fetched, fantastically frightening stories that, as an adult, produce bouts of laughter due to their ridiculousness. I wished that my fears could be easily diminished by sleeping on my side, turning on a light, opening a closet door, or uttering a simple prayer. I longed for rest and the peace that only a full night’s sleep can bring.