The memory of great times shared with my first best friends is etched into my brain recalling it like it is today.
The sun reflects off the treasure under the bush, worth ten cents upon redemption, the bottle is mine. My siblings and I often scour the hot desert behind our house for recyclable bottles in hopes of redeeming them for a little spending money. The paper bag I carry is almost full and too heavy to keep hauling around. Excitement grows as our hunting trip comes to an end. All that is left to do is trek down to Henry’s market on 36th Street on the south side of Tucson to reap our reward. My sister, brother and I anticipate these trips to the market on the weekends after we’d finish our chores. Sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping floors, as well as dusting furniture was the norm on Saturdays. In case you are wondering, we did chores and did not earn an allowance (rightly so I believe), hence the necessity for treasuring hunting.
We collected enough bottles to net a whopping three dollars, which is more than enough for us to score a trove of candy. Mr. Lee gives us our coins and we each go about the business of shopping with brown bags in hand. I of course I carefully peruse the candy isle calculating how to maximize my take. Let’s see, Tootsie Roll lollipops, multi-colored malted balls, pink bubble gum, a Hershey chocolate bar, a candy necklace, wax teeth, candy cigarettes, and a few saladitos (dry salted plums). The joy I feel cannot be explained. Hard work translated into reward, salty, sugary reward.
I know it is hard to imagine today, but it was possible to purchase a week’s worth of candy for less than a dollar when I was a child. After our spree, sitting on the curb outside the market we eagerly examine one another’s bounty before we indulge in a few treats ahead of the walk back home.
Some forty years later time has a way of dulling memories but those most joyful moments are clearly recalled and etched into my memory bank. I revel in the joy it brought us to share such simple experiences together. Looking back on shared adventures with my brother and sister who I do not see very often due to the thousands of miles between us, still connects me to each of them.
One such adventure is the time my brother exclaimed “I am going to fly” on a particularly windy summer afternoon. My sister and I watch intently as he strapped on his arms large pieces of discarded cardboard. We watched as he fought the strong winds to climb atop the makeshift dog house my dad had fashioned from old plywood and correlated metal in the backyard.
He waited patiently for a strong gust of wind and took the leap of faith. “I am flying!” He exclaimed. For an second it seemed to be true, he hung in the air for a brief moment before he crashed to the ground, landing in the brown dirt, which now caked with blood on his face. I rushed to him to make sure he was ok before I busted into a belly laugh. “You should have seen yourself, for a minute you were flying!” I yelled at him.
When Donnie and I were in elementary school together we were inseparable on the playground in the mornings before first bell. We would practice judo throws in the grass taking turns flipping one another over the other’s back and onto the ground with a thud. I followed him around like a faithful puppy, cherishing any attention he proffered, even if it meant enduring having the wind knocked out of me each time I landed face up on the grass.
Daredevil that he is, Donnie took up pole vaulting in high school. Watching from the bleachers, I remember him taking a similar face plant as his flying adventure. One of his attempted vaults failed miserably and he missed the mat. Instead of laughing I rushed to him out of fear that my big brother was injured. He bounced up as I approached the field, hurt but ready to try again. I am telling you now that my brother was at the front of the line when God was handing out “fearlessness”. He took a generous portion and left none for me. Throughout our lives I have always been the one who exercised caution, living vicariously though his experiences as he approached life with gusto.
I could go on and on about his exploits. The time a cherry bomb exploded as he hovered over it on the Fourth of July, the time he and my cousins shot themselves with a BB gun to see how it would feel… You get the picture, Donnie taught me the importance of adventure.
To my sister I was the obnoxious brat who traipsed around behind her ruining everything. Admittedly I was a bit of a tattletale and nuisance so I understand why she hated having me underfoot. My sister is one of my “sheros”. In my eyes she did everything well. An outstanding student, mathematics was no challenge for her. Astute at playing clarinet (I would stand outside her door listening to her practice in awe). She was a beautifully graceful dancer and runner, I desperately wanted to be just like her.
Charlene, topping out at just shy of 5’1″, ran hurdles on the track team in high school. Once I attended a track, witnessing her race Tracy (her best friend) who stood at least 5’10’. If memory serves me, sissy actually won that race to the surprise of all watching. She just barely cleared each hurdle as she raced to the finish line. It was electrifying to watch her compete.
I vividly remember the first time I saw Charlene perform during her modern dance recital in high school. She entered with a beautifully executed flying split along with Tracy. Representing grace, strength, and determination she soared through the air right in front of me. I did not know she could dance so watching her that night gave me goosebumps. She impressed me then and has continued to do so. Like I said, she did and still does everything well.
I annoyed Charlene by hovering around being a brat basically. Once while mom and dad were on vacation, the entire girl’s track team, hosted by my popular big sister, stayed overnight at our house. In one of my less than stellar moments as an obnoxious little sister, desperate for attention from the older girls, I took raw eggs and cracked them in the hair of unsuspecting sleeping beauties and unfortunately I also poured Kool-aid on them too. If Charlene could have sent me to a remote island to get rid of me, she certainly would have. Thank goodness it was not an option.
When I was in college our relationship changed. We were able to have adult conversations about school. Charlene was studying engineering and I accounting. I still can’t tell you why she would get excited about cement, but I’d listen intensely as she talked about its buoyancy (she was helping to design a cement boat for competition). It was cool connecting with her across the miles back then. Today, she is completing her MBA in Arizona and I am in Seattle. Sometimes we talk about finance and accounting over the phone (common ground finally). I like having something share with her.
Because she is swamped with homework, we do not get to talk much but I think about her all the time. I miss my big sister. She is still one of my favorite people. Her strength is inspiring, as a female engineer in a male-dominated industry she never gives up.
I guess what inspired me to write about my siblings today is that I love them and fondly recall the connection that we had as children, which I long for as an adult. Time and distance both have a way of creating a space for longing. A desire for simpler times and for the joy of watching your first best friends become their authentic selves.
It would be kinda fun to go on more expeditions with them. To hang out and just be our curious, innovative, daring selves together.