Shame

Most of you, in responding to my request for blog topics, have been kind. Not so for Kimberly, who prompted me to relive a shameful memory.

Siblings fight. It’s just a fact—-maybe one of the few universals in the world, right up there with how babies cry. And my older sister Veronica and I were no exception. We definitely got into some doozies, and there are plenty of family stories about the various ways we used to torture each other.

There is a moment in particular that I still remember. What’s funny is that I have absolutely no idea what we were fighting about, but I do, extremely clearly, remember being the world’s worst sister for a minute. I’m guessing that Veronica was ten and I was seven. Honestly, that part is extremely fuzzy, so I could be wildly off. We were playing with some neighborhood kids at Tamblyn Field, a park near our childhood home in Rutherford, New Jersey. I have a vague recollection that all of us had just done something sporty like playing basketball or something. That doesn’t really sound like us (Veronica was never into sports and I didn’t play anything until after we moved to Vermont), but it’s still what’s in my head.

Anyway, I was pissed off at Veronica for something at the end of the game. As the rest of our friends dispersed, Veronica stopped to tie her shoes. She was a tall and lanky kid, and instead of crouching down to tie it, she leaned over at the waist. I knew instinctually that the way she was standing meant that she didn’t have great balance at that moment, and I took the opportunity to shove her over hard and, of course, she fell. Even as I was doing it, I knew it was a really mean thing to do. I don’t think she had any idea I was going to do it, so she wasn’t braced for it at all. We physically fought each other many times before and after. But this is the only time I can remember taking advantage of the surprise attack so thoroughly. It just wasn’t a fair fight.

She got up and spat, “I hate you!” The way she said it and the look in her eye were convincing; at that moment at least, she really, really did hate me. And I kind of deserved it.

I’m not sure what it is that allows us to be most awful to the people in our own families, but there it is. I have no idea if Veronica even remembers this (I hope not; it would be awful to know that she’s held a grudge against me all these years!), but either way: Sorry, Veronica!