Only A Sister...

There are some things in life so cruel that they can only be inflicted upon someone by a sister.

Growing up with three sisters was tough. I'm convinced they had a secret agreement that everything would be my fault; no matter what. Now, granted, some relatively minuscule percentage of what happened around the house was my fault, but certainly not everything.

It didn't matter, though.

Mom would raise the question of who did whatever she was investigating at the time and, invariably, all three of them would immediately blame me. It didn't matter if none of them were even home when the deed occurred; they all pointed at me as the culprit. It was guaranteed to be three against one every time.

They also tortured me.

For example, I was forced to hear Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy and The Beatles over and over and over and over until I thought I was going to die! I swear that I would scream if I had to hear about the bluest eyes in Seattle, or how much he cherished his girl or wanted to hold her hand even one more time!

The worst torture experience of all, though, came from Debbie. Being the oldest, she was also the most diabolical. To completely understand the experience requires a bit of background.

I had a rather mild fear of the dentist as a kid. Rather mild could be accurately described as "find somewhere to hide and lock myself to an immovable object in an attempt to delay or avoid the experience entirely."

Dr. George was the epitome of evil; inflicting as much pain and misery upon me as he could. I'm convinced that when he noticed my name in the upcoming appointment book he would lie awake the night before to plot how he could cause me even more pain and anguish.

He was, in short, an oral butcher!

I can still vividly remember sitting in the chair as he hovered over me with his instruments of torture; his commemorative watch for bowling a 300 game just inches from my face; the smell of his breath as he maneuvered around to jam his instruments of evil into my mouth.

Yes; going to Dr. George was a terrifying experience. Real dentists that I saw later in life commented that they had never seen such horrible dentistry!

Lucky me!

Anyway, with that bit of background you might better understand Debbie's torture plan.

I went to a different school than any of the girls. (I would point out that I went to a special school for the gifted and talented if I were one who was inclined to boast, but that wouldn't be very nice of me. Beth was eventually accepted to the special school, too, but I think it was only because she was my sister.) One beautiful Spring day - I actually remember the day as if it were only yesterday; it was that bad of an ordeal - I was walking home from the bus stop when Mom pulled up in our old Ford station wagon and told me to hop in.

Debbie was already in the car.

I did what any inquisitive kid would do - I asked where we were going.

Debbie turned around from her spot in the front seat and said, "You have to go to the dentist."

The words had not even escaped her lips when I was covered in a cold sweat. My heart began palpitating and my ears started ringing.

"NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"NOT DR. GEORGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"PLEASE NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME SO I COULD PREPARE MYSELF?!?!?!?!?!?!"

"NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"NOT TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Debbie allowed the torture to continue until we reached the end of the block before she turned and said, "Shut up you baby! We're going to Nana's."

I was immediately overcome with both relief and anger. How could she torture me that way? Why would she even want to cause me such pain and anxiety.

Because she was a SISTER.

There could be no other explanation.

Only a sister could inflict such torture on a sweet kid like me.

I have grown up a lot since then. I no longer hide or attempt to lock myself to immovable objects when I have a dentist appointment.

Instead, I handle it like any brave guy would...

I take triazolam and let Diane drive while I drift off into la-la land!