No Returns

by prettybluebirds

Childhood Photo Contest Winner

This photo has always given me a chuckle. The year was nineteen-fifty. My older sister, Carol, took a picture of my baby brother, Danny, that showed my mother and me in the background. The look on my face was priceless.

To say I was spoiled in those days would be an understatement. I was child number ten, a girl born after four boys, daddy's little princess; my older siblings indulged me shamelessly. Then, HE came along and turned my world topsy-turvy.

I woke up one morning, and there he was. I had no idea where he came from, but he upset my life from day one. First, my mother informed me that from then on, I would be sleeping with one of my sisters because he, Danny, I learned his name, would be using the crib. It didn't sit well with me at all. It was my crib, and the intruder had no right to it. I threw a tantrum, which sometimes worked, but it gained nothing. I remember sitting on the floor by the crib, whispering dire threats into the ear of the usurper. Danny slept through it all.

Things didn't get any better. Danny demanded much of my mother's attention, and my older sisters thought he was adorable. They played with him like a living doll and I felt like a discarded toy. I wanted Danny to return to wherever he came from, and I didn't hesitate to say so. I figured Dad might see things my way if anyone would, so one day, I climbed on his lap when he came inside for lunch to plead my case.

I said, "Daddy, I don't like that baby. Can we send him back?"

Dad laughed, "No, Ruth, Danny is here to stay the same as you."

"Why?" I wailed. "You don't need him; you have lots of kids. Maybe you could give him to Aunt Grace. She doesn't have any babies." I let the tears flow so Dad would clearly understand how much I disliked the interloper.

"Danny is your brother, like all your other brothers and sisters. You will get used to him after a while. I don't want to hear any more about it, and I expect you to be nice to him," Dad said in his no-nonsense daddy voice.

Even at age four, I knew when Dad meant business and when it was time to back off.

Time passed, Danny grew, and I continued to think vengeful thoughts concerning my baby brother. Of course, I kept them to myself under threat of paddling if I misbehaved. I managed to control my feelings until one warm summer day when my mother put Danny in MY rocker and set him on the porch. I was furious. When I ran outside to attack my little brother, my mom grabbed me and started fixing my hair. My sister, Carol, snapped the picture and caught me glaring at Danny in a jealous rage.

I learned to tolerate Danny, but it took some time. Less than a year after Danny's birth, my sister Beverly came into the world, and unlike Danny, I loved her at first sight. I don't know why I reacted so strongly to Danny's arrival, but it had something to do with being spoiled rotten, which sister Carol was happy to point out and still does today. Anyway, the picture captured my dislike for my little brother perfectly.

Today, only six of us are left. One of them is my brother Danny, and another is my sister Carol, who recently turned ninety. My other siblings have forgotten, but these two continue to remind me of the time I wanted to send my baby brother back to wherever he came from. When Danny gets too annoying, I still consider it an option.

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