Little Boy Blue.

Sisters. Can't live with 'em. I Don't wanna live without 'em. I got lucky. Grew up with six. Me and two brothers were scattered about in the mix. My Sister, Shirley is, and has always been the heart of my heart. But why oh why was she born two years before I was. She always called me, "little brother," with a teasing giggle. And she always made it a point...to put an accent on the word, "little."


Fact about it, I was a little, little. But I didn't want anybody calling me little...especially a big girl. Shirley was a pesky big girl that Mom, put in charge of me. Shirley loved that more than she loved getting seconds on dessert. And she made sure that I, "KNEW," that.

She had this two word phrase that really baked my buns..."MOTHER SAID," What Mom said to her about me wasn't a biggie with me. But it was what Mom said to Dad about me when she got mad at me that got my humble regard.

Then there was my sister's three word phrase that left me in awe. "I'M TELLING MOTHER." That she used for her warning remark when she wanted to boss me around and laugh at me when I submitted to following her commands.

I was in first grade in 1952. Shirley was in third grade. First grader kids always got dismissed before third graders. So..."MOTHER SAID," that I had to stay in my classroom and wait for my sister to come and get me and walk me home. That didn't turn out to be the center of my joy.

WHY? Because of my friends...the guys. I was the laughingstock of the school yard. I was the only boy who's sister had to walk him home from school. I begged my sister not to show up to walk me. But she always showed up, floppy tailed dress and all.

"You ready to go home, little brother?"
"No. You go home. I'll be right behind you."
"No. Come on, little boy. You'll be right beside me."
"No. Scat. I don't need you to walk me home."

"MOTHER SAID, I gotta walk you home."
"She won't know you didn't"
"But I'll know. I'm doing what, MOTHER SAID."
"I don't care what Mom said."

"Oooouh. I'M TELLING MOTHER."
"But everybody's gonna laugh at me."
"What would you rather get...laughed at...or a beating?"
"I won't get no beating if you don't tell on me."

"But I WILL, tell Mother on you...and you WILL, get a good beating tonight."
"Then YOU, might as well get a beating right now.?
"HA! From who? You?"
"Yeah. Me."

"Ha ha ha kee kee kee hee hee hee. You know you can't beat me."
I puffed myself up."Yes I can."
"No you can't. Tried lots of times. Lost lots of times. And you'll lose again now."

Well...to make a long story short, after she beat me up, she had me laying on my back.
Sitting on my tummy, pinning my arms to the grass, and looking down on me, she asked...

"Are you ready to go home now, little brother.?"
"OW! This hurts.!"
"Wrong answer."
"Get your butt up off me."
"Wrong answer. You said, BUTT, You know you just said a bad word. Don't ya?"

"Is this gonna get back to Mom?"
"Wrong answer. That's a question. No. I won't tell Mother if you do what I say.
Now...I answered your dumb question...answer mine. Are you ready to go home?"
"Okay okay I'll let ya walk me home. Just let me get some air."

Shirley would stand, tug on my arm until she pulled me up.
Then she would brush me off real good first. Then she'd brush herself off real good,
and start walking as she towed me.

Pull-jerk. Frown-smirk. Drag-haul and that ain't all.

While I floundered behind her stumbling along,
She always sang her dainty little song.

"I love you, Rhonnie."
"Then let go of my hand."
"MOTHER SAID, that I gotta hold your hand. She don't want nothing bad to happen to you."

"Bad like what?"
"Like you goofing off and go running out in the street and get hit by a car."
"I ain't that dumb."
"Ooooo I'm not so sure."

"Shirley, are you smarter than me?"
"I've got a quarter. Do you have a quarter?"
"No."
"That answers your question."
Then she'd lead me into the store a buy me a bunch of candy and stuff.

Sisters, can't live with em'. Don't wanna live without 'em. I got lucky.
GREW UP WITH SIX.