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This is a question Siblings

Brothers and sisters - can't live with 'em, can't stove 'em to death with the coal scuttle and bury 'em behind the local industrial estate. Tell us about yours.

Thanks to suboftheday for the suggestion -we're keeping the question open for another week for the New Year

(, Thu 25 Dec 2008, 17:20)
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The Three Ss
Ah, how I love my older brother (by six years) and sister (by five years). I have many tales of the three of us getting into all kinds of scrapes. Naturally a few of them stand out in my mind, and I shall tell you of them. Now, it’s no good me using initials to refer to them, as handily our parents named us all common names beginning with S. Nice. So instead, I shall refer to them as my brother and my sister. Job done!

Now, a quickie. My sister has a delightful scar lengthways down the inside of one of her wrists. No, we didn’t drive her to it, instead in a pique of fury during one of our many scraps, I scratched her with my bare fingernails. I am adorable!

One of my earliest memories involves my siblings. We had a red and white tricycle when we were very young, which had a little boot on the back of it (classy or what?!). Being the youngest, the best idea my elders could think of was to bundle little me into this boot, shut the lid then have my brother go off peddling as fast as he could up and down the path outside our house. Said path takes a sharp turn right to go alongside the side of the terrace, so he shot round it on two wheels, the lid of the boot pops open and I roll out in the opposite direction. Oh, how we laughed!

Another time the three of us were spending a rainy evening playing with a bunch of other children on the swings etc. at the large recreation ground in the village when my brother comes up with a most spiffing idea.
“Everyone get on the big roundabout and hold tight!”
“Okay” bellow the rest of us, myself and my sister included.
My brother and one of his friends then proceeded to push the roundabout very fast indeed. Subsequently my little fingers got tired of clutching on so they let go. Cue me hurtling off the playground instrument of torture (as I now view them), through the air before coming to rest on the ground several feet away. Of course the laws of physics got their way and I continued to travel along the ground on one side of my face. Do you know what upset me the most, and kept me in tears all the way home? My brand new Mickey Mouse t-shirt had got ripped a little bit! What a git.

Many a time was we would play hide and seek, I would hide (splendidly, I thought) but my dear siblings would then give up, start playing another game and leave me in my hiding place for what seemed like hours.

My sister, being five years my senior had make up and nail polish before I did. Not fair, especially considering the more creative flair I have! So, one bored summer afternoon saw me paint my name using her new scarlet nail polish on our shared chest of drawers in our shared bedroom. How on earth did they find it out it was me?! I also remember when we were bought a new bedside lamp by our loving parents and I adorned the shade with the name ‘Gary’ (no, I don’t know why either) using one of her lipsticks. The shade was grey, by the way. I don’t know how they saw it!

Oh yes, I just remember another early memory. I sat on my sister’s head and farted. She never got me back for that one, despite her swearing she would.

At one point, our back garden was filled with rubbish (my parents were having a massive clear out) so we were playing war – my sister and me against my brother. Part way through the game we swapped sides of the garden so we could have different weapons to use but my sister and I wanted our shield ironing board back so my brother threw it to us across the garden. It arrived. And smacked me square in the mouth. And knocked out my two top front milk teeth. And I promptly swallowed them in shock. Then let the whole neighbourhood know about it. Loudly.

One time I got cross with my brother so I tested out a word I had heard used somewhere. I called him a bastard! I wasn’t even in double digits at the time, and I did it in front of my parents and sister too! I found myself soon being told off loudly for that one. (I should add here that I’ve heard swearing for as long as I can remember, and as soon as I hit senior school my potty mouth was unstoppable. It’s terrible at my current place of work too – the two guys I sit with spend the majority of each day calling each other some of the worst names possible: we’d make a sailor blush.)

Back to the subject. A good one was our father was strict when we were little, and from time to time it would be time for the group bollocking. My sister suffered from inner ear problems when she was a child, and also occasional fainting episodes. So one time our father was merrily blaring away at the three of us and next thing I know he’s gently pushed my sister onto the sofa and my brother has run screaming and crying from the room. Shortly it transpires that my brother has thought our father has just killed my sister and lost it big time with him, when actually our father saw my sister was about to have a fainting bout so pushed her to the sofa so she wouldn’t smack her head on the floor. Isn’t it amazing how things look to a child?

I’m running out of decent tales now, so I’ll tell you how things have panned out for the three of us.

My brother clearly developed a taste for older women: the smallest age gap between his partners and him was about five years, and that was his wife. He had a son at age 21, my parents’ first grandchild and whom they dote on (my father adores him). As I was only 14 when my nephew came into the world, I didn’t want to be called Auntie. However I know he does behind my back because his half-sister told me he does. And also one time he accidently called me auntie when I was talking to him, the git! Bless. He also doesn’t like that I take after my father in the height department and although he’s nearly taller than my sister (and is, at last, taller than my mother) he’s still got a good half a foot or so to get to my height though. Hah! Back to my brother. He’s now divorced from his wife (and his son’s mother) and had a couple of relationships but is now happily engaged (long term) and doing his original job of a postman.

My sister knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life – she got a City & Guilds in caring, had a succession of jobs working with teenagers and young adults with autism and/or severe learning difficulties. She left home when she was 24 and is successful on the property ladder. She had a semi-serious relationship at around that age, even getting engaged but he was a berk and she finally finished with him. She didn’t really have anything serious until about 2-3 years ago when she met her now live-in partner. Happily they started trying for a family in autumn 2007 and she got pregnant almost immediately – with twins! (Twins don’t run in either our or his family but I suppose they’ve got to start somewhere.) She gave birth to two little girls in May last year who are turning out to be two very different personalities and are utterly adorable. And if you’re wondering: I shan’t mind them calling me Auntie – I’m going to be 30 this year! *shudder*

Edit: [insert your own witty length pun here]
(, Tue 6 Jan 2009, 15:33, 2 replies)
very nice story. i also liked the ckeeky length joke at the end - go me!
(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 9:53, closed)
That's sibilants, not siblings...
(, Wed 7 Jan 2009, 17:34, closed)

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