the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2
Throughout my childhood, my dad, his two brothers and sister worked to make sure all the cousins really knew each other. They coordinated holidays and visits in the summer. At the farm, we played on the barn roof, rode to buggy in the orchard. We took turns on the tire swing and riding the pony. We saw each other at Christmas and Easter. Family from Iowa, Indiana and Texas all together every year for well over a decade.
There was a definite pecking order among the kids. My brother was the oldest boy with a buddy in crime, a cousin a couple of years younger. Then it was me and two girl cousins a year a part. Three peas in a pod. We were often left behind as the two eldest grandsons went with grandpa to shoot or play golf. They hogged the buggy. They attempted to dictate what we did.
Beck and Jen and I played well together. We played with toys and swam and created a secret club. We ran to the back pasture to the mulberry tree and climbed it, eating mulberries until they stained our mouths, fingers and clothes. We hunted for barn kittens.
Beck and Jen felt sorry for me and commiserated with my sibling predicament. Apparently my brother WAS a mean as I thought. Not bully mean, just older brother stuff. Apparently, my two sister cousins, living in a household without an older brother, thought he was a terror. They were genuinely frightened by his ‘brotherly’ ways. Years later, they told him.
One day, playing, “let’s get my brother in trouble,” we wiggled into the old rollaway in the spare room closet, closed the door and hid. Then, waited for the hammer to drop. He was responsible for us and the parents would be home soon. We muffled giggles and whispers in the stifling mattress, until cars door slammed and the parental search begin in earnest.
A bit of sweet, sweet revenge tripled with the help of my with my Texas fam.
Roll with it, baby,