(My sister is about three years old at the time of this story, and our mother has taken her out to play. It’s time to go home, and naturally, my sister doesn’t want to leave. She’s trying to get back to the playground.)
Mom: “[Sister], Mommy said no!”
Sister: “But Mommy, [Sister] said yes!“
(My sister is drinking a coffee she’s left sitting for a few hours. She looks in the mug.)
Sister: “Wow, there’s a lot of fluff in here.”
(She sits there, mulling over her options.)
Sister: “Maybe if I stir it in, it’ll sink the bottom.”
(I watched in horror as she happily stirred and drank her dust-and-cat-hair coffee. I really hope one of us is adopted.)
(My brother used to love fried okra as a kid, and would get it every time we went to a restaurant that served it. We never realized he didn’t know it was a vegetable, until one day he bites a piece in half instead of eating it whole.)
Brother: *looking at the cross-section of okra in his hand* “Hey, what’s this green stuff in my fried okra?!”
Mom: “That’s the okra.”
Brother: “Then what’s the brown stuff on the outside?”
Mom: “That’s the ‘fried.'”
(I’m with my family at Hershey Park for the day. It is also my youngest sister’s tenth birthday. As part of her gift, I got her a small hair ornament that looks like a tiara that says, “Happy Birthday.” We have just finished a tour, and at the end an elderly man is handing out small Hershey bars — one for each person.)
Man: *squinting at my sister’s tiara* “What does that say?”
Me: “‘Happy Birthday.’”
Man: “How old are you today?”
Sister: “Ten!”
(The man proceeds to slowly count out and perfectly line up ten chocolate bars, then pushes them toward my sister.)
Man: *smiling* “Don’t tell anyone I did this. This is on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Hershey. They would want you to have this on your birthday.”
(One of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen!)
(This happened several years ago. My father, brother, and I are on a car trip to visit my dad’s family. It’s a long trip, and at thirteen, I’ve just started getting my period. I don’t know how to use tampons, nor have I figured out that pads come in varying thicknesses. Unfortunately, I get it the day before we are meant to leave, and have been doing my best to keep things subtle, but over the course of the twelve-hour drive, I have been asking to stop at least every two hours. This happens around hour ten.)
Dad: “Look, you’re cut off from fluids. We stopped two hours ago, and we’ve only got two hours left; you’re fine. You don’t need us to stop again.”
Brother: “Yeah, what’s the matter with you? You’ve barely had anything to drink all day, and you’ve added like an hour onto the trip.”
Me: “Guys, I know it’s annoying, but please, please, can we stop soon? There’s a gas station in a few miles, and I really need us to stop.”
Dad: “You’ve been saying that all day! You can manage at least another hour, all right?”
Me: “No, seriously. I really, really can’t, okay? Please, please, please stop at the gas station, Dad.”
Brother: “God, you’re so [expletive] annoying; you’re being such a brat.”
Me: “Guys, please!“
Dad: “I’m not stopping.”
Me: “Do you want bloodstains in your new car, Dad? ‘Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t stop.”
(There’s a moment of quiet, and then…)
Brother: “Are you trying to threaten us into stopping?”
Me: “I’m on my period, dumba**!”
(Another long pause. Dad pulls into the exit lane.)
Brother: “Can’t you just… Hold it in a little longer?”
Me: “That’s not how that works! I’m not willingly trying to ruin my shorts! It just comes out!”
(Neither of them spoke another word until we reached the gas station. When I came out of the bathroom, they’d bought a pile of different types of chocolate for me, and asked me if I needed to stop every time we passed a rest station the rest of the way there and back. They do their best, in their own way.)
