I wasn't going to participate in 5QF with Mama M. this time, but someone asked me what my worst memory of my sibling was, so I guess I'll partially participate and answer that one question.
1. What is your worst memory of your sibling(s)?
If you've been reading very long or know me personally, you know that my dad was a band director and my mom was a color guard instructor. They were always a team, so my sister and I seemed to live in the band room and on the football field. We were at all the camps, all the sectionals, all the competitions. It was our life, and I think she'd agree, it was something we loved even as kids. It must have been in our blood; we could both spin flags and rifles as children.
The summer of my 8th grade year, my mom wanted me to spin with the high school girls during the fair parade. The formation they wanted to make on the street with the numbers they had was such that they needed one more girl, and since I had been doing the routine since 3rd grade (our street parade routine was always the same), the girls agreed that I was "good enough" to do this with them.
We were all down on the track, making our formation as the band set their intervals just right before dad would blow the whistle for us to be at attention. My little sister was up in the stands, being a good little girl and being quiet, just watching like she always did (she would have been about 7 I guess), when all of a sudden we all heard her say, "Mom!"
This was a big deal. The band director's daughters NEVER bothered their parents during practice.
I remember looking up and wondering what in the world Sonja could have been thinking and why she was bothering mom. Then my mind starting thinking that something had to be wrong because both of us knew better. As I looked over at mom and saw her climb up the steps to the stands where Sonja was sitting, I saw her get to my little sister and then yell, "Bill!"
The band director's wife NEVER referred to him by his first name around students. Never. At that point, all the students knew something wasn't right, too.
The rest of the details are a bit blurry, but I know that someone carried Sonja away from the stands and into my parents' car. Was it dad? I guess it would have been?
She had severely cut her knee "down to the bone" on the edge of the bleachers in the stands. Mom took her to the local physician where she received several stitches. It was so very painful for my little sister, and perhaps this is where her fear of needles began? The scar is still easy to see, a reminder of that moment for her.
But I remember feeling helpless. I know she thinks that I just considered her my bratty little sister, and maybe I did for the most part. In that moment, however, she was my sister who was hurt and who needed help.
It is my worst memory of my sibling.
Obviously she was fine and she healed. She's all grown up now, beautiful as can be. And I love her very much.
I'm glad she was ok :o)
Chrissy and Sonja, senior night, October 2003, standing on the same track mentioned in the story.
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