the cheese stands alone

Another Hallmark Moment

Forty years ago, my mom and dad came to me and said they had a birthday present for me, possibly the best birthday present ever.

I had wanted a puppy for so long, I knew, I just knew it was a puppy. Hadn't I been a good girl? Didn't I clean my room? Wasn't my brother a lot less whiny since I quit giving him purple nurples?
I deserved.... no, by god, it was my right to have a puppy.

They gave me a baby sister instead.
A wrinkly, pink, squalling blob in a milk-smelly blanket, making noises like a teakettle on crack.

I didn't let them forget their mistake, either. Every time Rhonda cried, I'd say wisely "Puppies don't make that much noise." When a stinky diaper reared its ugly head and sent us all out into the front yard gasping for breath, I'd sagely remind my parents that puppies smell of warmth and cuddles. When Mom struggled to stuff just one more diaper into the washing machine, I'd casually point out that puppies just go potty in the back yard..."like normal".

No one caves in easier than a sleep-deprived new parent. Two weeks after Rhonda was born, I got a purebred dachshund puppy. I named him Alvin, because I was besotted with Chipmunk love. Alvin was the four-footed Siamese twin I never had. He ate with me. He slept with me. He followed me
everywhere. He scorned all other humans.
Alvin and I would have been the first human/canine marriage. I would have become a Supreme Court judge just to make sure it happened.

Only one evening, Alvin didn't come in when I called.

My dad, peeved for one reason or another, banished Alvin outdoors during dinner. Something about feeding him all my broccoli under the table, perhaps. Alvin barked for a half-hour solid while I squirmed in my chair and gobbled my dinner as fast as I could. Finally, when I was excused from dinner, I ran to let him in.
Only there was nothing on the doorstep.

For weeks afterward, I was inconsolable. I blamed my dad. I blamed my mom. But mostly I blamed Rhonda.
"Why didn't they steal HER?" I wailed as she wailed right along with me. I wanted nothing more than that thing out of my life.

Within two days of each other, we were both in the hospital.... me with kidney failure, and Rhonda with spinal menengitis. I would drag my I.V. poles down the hall to the pediatric intensive care, and watch her sob silently behind the thick window, needles still visible in her scalp a good half inch, barely held by delicate, translucent skin. She wiggled unhappily, restrained so she wouldn't pull out her tubes.
She was smaller than a puppy, weaker than a puppy, and more helpless than a puppy.

I lost interest in puppies during those two weeks. I kept visiting Rhonda, and we got better at the same time. We went home on the same day.
This time, I didn't beg for them to take her back.
She was my new Alvin.

I spent the next 18 years of my life defending her, envying her, applauding her, covering for her, and watching her grow from Spoiled Youngest to Family Beauty. She was voted Most Everything in high school. She went after everything she wanted the same way, full-bore and no holds barred.

She got most of what she went after, too.

We grew up sisters and became best friends. She's the example I point to when I want to illustrate ambition or motherhood (she had three kids of her own now) or vitality. She turned out to be a pretty damn good birthday present after all.

She's no Alvin, my baby sister. But she's a keeper.
Happy birthday, Rhonda.

and happy birthday to me, too.

Posted by LeeAnn at September 6, 2003 12:01 AM | TrackBack