The Sunday Sibling Showdown

The Sunday Sibling Showdown

I grew up in a middle-class family with two sisters. By all accounts, it was a fairly average life — if not a little out of the ordinary.

My dad was a geologist, the product of a long line of outdoorsmen — tough as nails, mountain types. In fact, my granddad and great-uncle were a handful all on their own. One time in the early '70s, Granddad got himself arrested in Creede, Colorado after staggering out of a bar, pulling a compound bow from his old Chevy pickup, and taking bets on who could double-lung the fiberglass bull elk perched above the Creede Sports & Outdoors sign.

He won the bet, but not without consequences. Both he and my great-uncle spent the night in jail and paid a $50 fine to fix the elk. In true small-town fashion, the folks thought it was so funny that they left the arrow lung shot elk statue standing there for years.

These were the kind of men who raised my dad.

And then there was my mom — not exactly a city girl, but prim and proper by comparison. Her side of the family were educated musicians, doctors, and psychologists. So when she fell for a mountain man, it caused a bit of a culture shock on her side of the family.

But anyway, I’m getting off track. This story is about my youngest sister.

She was known for being a bit of a handful growing up, though we’re very close now. One fine Sunday after church, we all filed back into the house — Mom went to start lunch, Dad fired up the mower, and my little sister, who was about six at the time, came dragging her dirt-stained pink and white blanket behind her.

It was the '90s, and I had one thing on my mind: Sunday afternoon cartoons.
But my sister had other plans.

When I got to the TV first, she threw herself onto the floor, screamed bloody murder, and when Mom rushed in, my sister shouted, "He hit me!"

Without hesitation, I got three swats and a stern lecture: "We don’t hit people."
There was no way out of it — she had won.

The next Sunday, she tried the same trick. As soon as she hit the ground screaming, I didn’t even argue — I just went outside and let her have the TV. It wasn’t worth the risk.

This tactic worked brilliantly for her... until the Sunday she decided to try it on Mom herself.

She threw herself right on the ground, just like before, kicking and screaming like Mom had shoved her down.
My mother, shocked and understandably was furious.

Unfortunately, Dad overheard the screaming from the other room, came storming in without asking a single question, grabbed Mom, bent her over his knee, and blistered her backside — all while sternly declaring, "We don’t hit people!"

Mom was shocked.
My sister was triumphant…
And me? I was just glad for once it wasn’t my turn.

Ashokan O’Fabley -The Mandolinian Remember this is satire! :D