When the Chips are Down

When I was 10 our family drove from Washington to Minnesota for a family reunion.  My parents liked to marvel about how well-behaved we kids were. Either they had forgotten the truth, or they never really knew what was happening in the back seat.

I remember one afternoon in particular, sitting by the window in the backseat of the Oldsmobile.  I think we were in South Dakota.  My sister Jude, three years older than I, reached over quietly and stabbed me in the thigh with a pencil.  I suspect I had done something to her first; though interestingly, I no longer remember that part. I jumped to grab my wounded leg, and sat rocking back and forth holding my leg for a few seconds.  Then, very calmly, I reached over and engaged the cigarette lighter.  When it popped up, glowing red, I pulled it out, turned toward her, and branded her on the thigh.

For years I had a dark grey mark in my thigh from the pencil lead.  And Jude could point to a small circular scar on her leg.  Souvenirs of our trip to Minnesota.

Our family recently completed a 7,000-mile road trip across 13 states and four Canadian provinces with our five kids.  Overall it went pretty well.  To my knowledge nobody was impaled or branded.  We just endured 7,000 miles of fighting, 7,000 miles of spitting, 7,000 miles of kicking, 7,000 miles of throwing whatever was handy.  7,000 miles of listening to conversations like:

“Oh yeah, smell it now.”

“I’m not gonna smell it, you smell it.”

“Mom!  We need a wipe back here.”

“Look, I’m a queen.”

“No, you’re a dork.”

“Duh, if you open your eyes you can see better.”

“May Day, May Day, May Day.”

“Kiss me, baby.”

“Quit telling me to kiss you.  I don’t want to kiss you.  Mom!”

“Will everybody just shut up!”

And finally, “I can’t stand my brother and sisters.  I wish I was the only child.”

One afternoon, in a hopeless attempt to shut them up for a little while, I offered each of them a gumball.  But I didn’t have five gumballs. I only had three.  So they each had half a gumball.

“I wanted red.  How come I have to have green.”

“I want the green.  I got orange.”

“I don’t care what color I have.  Quit whining, you guys.”

We sat up in the front seat rolling our eyes.  Do they have to fight over everything?  Can’t they just appreciate each other every once in a while?  You know, they’re all pretty lucky to have each other.  Don’t forget that.

What came next surprised even me.

“Here, Ben, I’m done with my red.  Do you want it?” Kathryn offered.

“Yeah.  Thanks, Kathryn.  Emmy do you want my green one now?” Ben offered up his already-chewed piece.

“Somebody want orange?” Emmy asked.

As we listened from the front, they all traded their chewed pieces of gum to someone who wanted that one.  We up front exchanged silent glances.

That night, we were still on the road after they had all fallen asleep.  I sat in the back with somebody’s head resting against my shoulder, and someone else’s legs sprawled across my lap.  Two kids behind me were asleep, equally intertwined, with arms and legs lying limp where they had fallen.  And one up front was asleep hanging onto her dad’s arm as he drove.

I sat watching them all sleep, and found myself searching in the dark for that old pencil lead mark in my thigh.  I couldn’t find it anymore.  And I started hoping that my sister Jude still at least has her scar where I branded her thigh with that cigarette lighter.  Because some things just shouldn’t be forgotten.

So here’s to siblings.  Because when the chips are down, who else can you spit on, throw a flashlight at, burn with a cigarette lighter, say that you hate, kick, share your chewed gumballs with, and still fall asleep on?