HUMOR
My Sister Toots By Eric Reynolds
In 1967 I was eight years old. It was the best summer ever. I was too little to be of any real help around the farm, but too big to need a sitter. When Dad sent me back to the house, Mom would shoo me outside and then I could spend all day fishing, building hay forts or just riding my old, hand-me-down bike. Life was perfect. Then school started.
I was vaguely aware that I had a little sister. I mean, I knew she existed. I just didn’t know she would be my problem. She was starting Kindergarten and it was my job to get her on the bus, protect her all day, and get her safely home again. I was not happy with the arrangement, but apparently there’s a tradition or something.
On the first day of school, I spent recess trying to get the pull cord back into her Mrs. Beasley doll. One day, coming home on the bus, some sixth grade girls started teasing her about her long, straight hair and tom-boy clothes. She came and sat with me. I told her she should just buck-up. I explained to her that when Bart Dankhouse ruined my notebook, I punched him in the arm and he left me alone after that. It seemed to help, but as soon as we got off the bus, she started crying. She cried all the way through dinner. I felt really bad for her.
That evening she slipped into my room and asked for help to curl her hair. All I had to do was sneak into our parents’ room and get Mom’s hair drier. How could I refuse? That hair drier was way cool! It looked like a vacuum cleaner, with a long hose connected to a bag; when you pulled the bag over your hair, you looked just like an astronaut and it sounded like a jet engine when it started. It got hot like one, too.
I retrieved the hair drier without incident. However, when I got it back to my room there were no curlers – those spongy, tube things Mom rolled her hair around before putting on the astronaut hair drier bag. My sister got a poop lip and I heard the whine, that telltale noise she made just before the earsplitting wail that would bring every adult running. I put my hand over her mouth and assured her we would find something to use for curlers. We tried Lincoln logs, but they kept falling out. Then I remembered the bag of Tootsie Rolls in my sock drawer. After a few tries, we figured out if you licked them first they rolled pretty well. It took us a while, but we got it done. We were feeling mighty proud of ourselves. I placed the astronaut bag over her head and turned it on.
At first it smelled good, like when you drop a smore in the campfire. Then she started fussing and commenced pawing at the bag. I was pulling off the head piece when our parents burst into the room. I was defenseless, holding the smore smelling hood; her crying and looking like a burnt cupcake.
For my part in this I was sentenced, permanently, to grown up chores in the barn. She got an emergency hair cut. This mortified my mother, but when she got on the bus, the snooty girls were all excited and said she looked just like Twiggy on the cover of that week’s fashion magazine. She snubbed them and sat with me. Bart Dankhouse made a face at her. She punched him in the arm. I kind of liked her after that, even though she was my sister.
Lessons for Parents
The best way to keep kids at home is to make the home a pleasant atmosphere... and let the air out of their tires.
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