“The RoseBouquet”

I can recall being left to babysit my younger siblings when I was only six or seven. My first memory like that goes back to when we were on the farm and had no electricity. Instead there was a kerosene lamp on the table, and although I could turn it down dimmer when we were all in bed, I remember the shadows the whiffs of smoke made on the ceiling and that they played a part in my nightmares.

I’m told that although I had two younger brothers and a sister, when I was eleven I had prayed for a new baby sister. When she arrived, shortly after we had moved into town, Mom put her into my arms, and said, “Here’s the baby sister you prayed for.” I was ecstatic. I would get to love her and play with her, and have a bosom buddy. Oh, we’d do so much together!

Erma became my responsibility most of the time from then on. I cooed to her, rocked and sang to her, changed her diapers, and almost 100% of the time, adored my baby sister. However the romance of it all did wear off, and mainly I learn to be mature and to see danger like an adult mom, to scold and to insist it had to be thus and so, or we’d be in trouble with Mom and Dad. I suppose the impact was greater because I was often left to babysit, not just Erma, but also my two brothers, Ernie and Tommy, and my sister Elsie who was five years younger than I.

There were moments when I ground my teeth and wished I could go out to play with the neighbourhood kids on the vacant lot across the back alley. If I thought she’d fallen asleep and laid her in her crib, and dashed off to play, I could soon expect to hear Mom calling from the door, to come back. Erma was awake.

Wholeheartedly, I looked forward to being all grown up. Still, there were moments when I wondered why I couldn’t remember being a baby or a little girl carried around on someone’s arm.

Now in later years, especially as I’ve dug into family history, I’ve made a discovery. I come from a long, l-o-n-g line of oldest sisters. It’s true. I’ve got “Big Sister” blood flowing in my veins.

Mom had an older brother, but was the oldest girl in a family of eleven children. When she was ten her parents had their seventh, another baby boy. She had to stay home from school to kneed the dough for the family’s weekly bread supply. She cried into the dough while her Dad stood over her to make sure she stayed until the dough was the right texture and ready to set for proofing.

Another time she also had to help hold down her six year old brother Jacob when he had a Grand Mal Seizure and died. There are many other stories of being the responsible one.

My life is an echo of Mom’s, although I’ve not experienced the severe pioneering times of that era. I’m beginning to understand that there is a special role for strong-character, sensible, mature and loving older sisters. But what exactly is our role? Where is that fine line between being the wonderful glue that holds a fragile family together, and being the bossy, manipulative ogre that some big sisters become?

My maternal grandmother, Elisabeth, was also an oldest sibling, and her mother, Anna, was third-born, but the first sister died as an infant, so she and her next older sister were very close and shared responsibilities when their mother died, and a step-mother came in. My paternal grandmother, Maria,was the oldest sister in the Spenst family (and my Dad their first-born), and her mother, Elizabeth was a first-born too, with her mother being the only sister to three brothers. You see, I come from a long line of these older sisters. I’ve only given you a small sampling.

Now I’m asking myself; does this mean I have inherited a dominant gene or are there just little skills and character traits that is handed down from one generation to another?

Looking around at the friends I have, including the ones I’ve populated my novel with, I see that I hit it off best with people who are also first-borns, particularly the oldest sister. We have similar family values. We understand the importance of the rules and making everyone toe the line. When we start something we finish it.

You know what? I’m proud to be an older sister! It has it’s challenges, but the role suits me now, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

……….
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