Browsing Category Brothers and Sisters

“I smile because you’re my sister. I laugh because there’s nothing you can do about it!” Anonymous

It’s funny how, at the oddest time, a long-suppressed memory will creep out of the gray matter in my head and then rewind and replay like an old movie.

This morning, I awoke near dawn and was lying in bed trying to decide whether to get up right away or stay there for a while and catch a few more zzzs when, out of the blue, I remembered a humorous incident that occurred years ago. It involved my Aunt Ida, my mother, and me.

I must have been around seven or eight years old at the time. My family was visiting my maternal grandma’s farm down south, as we did on occasional weekends or frequently during school break.

The memory is as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

I remember that it was a beautiful morning. One of my mother’s sisters, Ida, my mother, and I were in grandma’s vegetable garden, gathering veggies for that day’s dinner. Aunt Ida was wearing a long-sleeved, light blue shirt and faded blue jeans. Mother wore khakis and a lightweight dark-colored jacket over a green short-sleeved blouse. Because the dew was still on the ground, mother and Aunt Ida had put on old galoshes to protect their shoes from the droplets. I didn’t have galoshes and was aware of the dampness seeping into my sneakers. It amazes me how I can remember details of something that occurred years ago, but ask me about something that happened yesterday, and I draw a blank.

The garden was enclosed in what I believe was a chicken wire fence to prevent deer and other animals from eating the crops. Mother was at one end of the plot pulling a few cucumbers. Aunt Ida and I were a few feet away at the opposite end. Auntie was identifying for this naïve city girl some of the other veggies growing there when my eyes scanned the next row and landed on an elongated, curly green thing, about a foot long and half-inch thick. I starred and it for a few seconds, and my childhood imagination kicked in.

“Aunt Ida,” I whispered, drawing her attention, “Look, there’s a snake.” Aunt Ida followed my pointing finger to the object on the ground, briefly observed it, and then cracked a smile. Having been born and raised on the farm, she immediately recognized it for what it was or, in this case, what it wasn’t.

“It’s not a snake,” she laughed as she reached over the crop and picked up the slightly curvy bright green thing. “It’s just a piece of vine,” she said. Then, she glanced at mother, who had her back to us and was leaning forward, perhaps deciding on whether or not to pull up some veggies.

I am smiling now as I recall what happened next. Aunt Ida asked if I wanted to play a trick on my mom, and I nodded yes. Of course, innocent me had no idea what was about to unfold.

She handed me the piece of vine and positioned it in my hand to hold one end of it with the tips of my index finger and thumb. Next, she told me to put my hand behind my back and then walk over to my mother, stand before her and say, “Mom, look what we found,” and then bring my arm around in front of me.

Obedient and unsuspecting, I did as I was instructed. When I was a few feet in front of my mom, she lifted her head to look at me and said, “What’s up, Lo?”

I noticed that Aunt Ida, who had quietly walked up and was standing a few feet behind mom, was smirking like she was about to bust a gasket.

“Muh, (that’s what my siblings and I called our mom) look what Aunt Ida and I found.” I immediately moved my arm around in front of me and extended it toward mom. The curly green vine swayed in the breeze. Mom let out a scream and began hop-scotching away from me while yelling, “PUT THAT DOWN.” Aunt Ida was howling with laughter. Mom was screaming, jumping all over the place, and yelling, “Put that snake down.” I dropped the vine and slowly backed-pedaled. Some years later, I would wonder if grandma had been standing at the kitchen window enjoying the comedic drama as it unfolded.

Unbeknownst to me at the time but well known to Aunt Ida, my mother was scared to death of snakes.

“Bootsie (that was the nickname mother’s siblings called her), it’s not a snake. It’s only a vine,” Auntie said to mother to calm her down. Mother angrily scolded her, “That’s not funny, Ida.”

Aunt Ida could not stop laughing. Mother could not stop fuming. And I just stood there thinking, “Oh- oh. I’m in big trouble.” But I wasn’t because Aunt Ida rightfully took the blame and fessed up that it was all her idea.

Mother and Aunt Ida would laugh about that event over the years. Today the two sisters are with my grandparents and some of their other siblings together in eternity. And until I join them, I will always smile at pleasant memory like this one when they resurface.