I was an accident. My parents were done having children, and happily raising them, when I came along. My siblings were 14, 13, and 10 by the time I was born. My brothers left for Mormon missions and for college by the time I was school age, and so my sister, Annie, and I were raised together.
I adored Annie. She was everything right with the world. She had the best records and by the age of four I could sing any song off of Olivia Newton John's Physical album. When I was five, after being convinced a mouse had run over me in my sleep, I moved into her room where we would listen to the Osmond's and read the T.V. guide before we went off to school. I could easily convince Annie to do my chores, and am proud to say I haven't taken the garbage out since 1984.
The Fall of 1st grade, Annie became increasingly irritating. I wanted to listen to...anything but the Osmond's before school - which was not an option. And I wanted to read anything but the T.V. guide - now that I could read - also not an option. Our bickering and fighting was at an all time high when my mom decided it was time to talk to me about Annie.
It was just my my mom and I in the car when she broached the subject. She explained that "Annie is special...different from me...a blessing to our family...that heavenly father sent her especially to us...that now that I was growing up, I needed to be patient with her."
She asked if I understood. I nodded emphatically. And my mom gave herself a proverbial pat on the back for raising such a mature, sensitive 6 year old.
We arrived home shortly after and I quickly disappeared upstairs to the t.v. room. After a couple of squelches and shouts from Annie and me, I returned downstairs to my mom in the kitchen.
"Mom, everything's going to be fine. I explained everything to Annie, and now she knows that she's RETARDED."
