THE CURSE OF HAVING BECKY TISDALE/LOVE/WELDAY AS AN OLDER SISTER

Story 2

 My sister Becky was always destined to be a schoolteacher.  When we lived in the Paradise community, we had a wide set of stairs to the second floor.  I was four when we moved there and eight when we moved to Jackson St. Ext. outside of Alexandria.  

   Becky and I often played school on those stairs.  She was always the teacher.  I never got a chance to even attempt to be one because, well, have I told you before that I thought she was domineering and bossy?  That’s what first children do, though, isn’t it?

 

  The schoolhouse was the stairs, and each step was a grade to attempt.  Becky held a nickel in one of her fists behind her back and I was to guess which fist had the nickel.  If I got it correct, I had to answer a question of her choosing correctly.  If I missed the question, she made me write the question on paper at least ten times.  Then she would tell me the answer so I could remember in case she asked it again.  I’m afraid I did not progress too well in her school, never got past third. If she asked me the same question again if I chose the correct hand, and I failed again then I had to move one stair down. 

I was always envious of her great retention of stories, poems, authors.  I still struggle with this.  Even then she was my hero although I had no idea.  She was trying to improve my memory.

When we visited our grandparents on holidays we always played on the stairs to their attic.  Guess who was the teacher?  Yep.  It was Becky.  Now when cousins were also with us, we still played school, but Merry and Becky switched turns being the teacher.  But this time there were no questions, so I was able to advance through the twelfth grade.  

Older sisters can be so infuriating growing up, but they also make great friends as adults.  Oh, I’d get aggravated when she’d correct me or acted like a cloned Susie Blair, our mother.

  I learned to turn off the volume on my phone when I’d get a text at two or three in the morning, and sometimes not reply, but it didn’t matter. She did it anyway.  That’s one of the things I miss most right now is not receiving a text from my schoolteacher sister or seeing that she “liked” every comment I made to anyone and make snide remarks that she was turning into Susie.

Just last night around eleven, I thought of something I read and said, "Becky would love this," and came close to texting you. I halfway expect to get a text every night.

  Your funeral will be how you want it to be, we hope.  Since you couldn’t find the book where you wrote the directions, and Carl couldn’t either, we just had to get our heads together about what to do.  Phone calls and texts between Katy, Arkansas and Wales filled our time.  We also found pictures some of which you probably won’t approve of but tough.  You should have been better organized where you keep things, I guess that is the Blair in you because we are all like that.  I love you dearly and will miss you.

I adored you and you adored me.  Rest in peace dear Becky.  You will always be a part of my heart.   As daddy would say, “Sini die”. 

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