Do you have a mean ’ol big brother or sister? They’re sometimes crummy to live with.
Well, I need to confess that I have been that mean big sister. Confessing my story will insure readers will probably stop reading my blog. But, I have to take that chance.
Here’s my story. I was about eleven years old and the oldest of four kids─ eleven ten, nine and four years old. And as my parents were equal opportunity believers in chores, I had to one night take my turn at washing dishes. So with lots of whining and sighing I complete my job.
─Except for washing my nine year old brother’s bowl. He was still dawdling over a small dish of home canned apricots in the breakfast room. In my family the cardinal rule stated one needed to finish one’s entire meal before leaving the table. Wasting food ranked up there with cheating on a school exam.
But my brother hated apricots and insisted he would gag on all those little stringy membranes they had in them. No matter, rules were rules so he sat alone at the long wooden table eyeing the plump orange pieces of fruit. I could see his pokiness was going to wreck my evening plans of watching Gilligan’s Island on television.
With this on my mind I walked into the breakfast room to motivate him, only to see he had disappeared. Hmm. Wonder he slipped off to?
Suddenly I heard a noise outside the back door off of the breakfast room that opened onto the driveway. I slipped out the door and to my horror and amusement saw my brother taking his canned apricots and scraping them into the old galvanized garbage can with the big dent in it.
The outrage. Why should he be able to cheat and not eat awful food the rest of us had to choke down? Yes, Mom was a good cook but we didn’t always so of her healthy offerings.
My brother jerked up his head as I hovered over him. Fear clouded his eyes. “Don’t tell.” I heard pleading in his voice.
I surveyed the scene. I could get a lot of mileage out of this situation.
Into my voice I packed all the authority an eleven year old oldest child could. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Having this power was fun. I was in charge and relishing it. But then my conscience got the best of me and I gave my brother what I thought was a break. “Okay I won’t tell if you eat all those apricots out of the garbage can,” I said.
His face turned a pale shade of green as he mulled over his choice. He could face the wrath of Mom or take his chances with Salmonella. He chose Salmonella.
“Oh by the way, if you start to bug me about anything, all I have to say is one word, ‘apricots,’” I said. Ha, that should put the fear of God into him.
Oh I was an awful sister. A big tattletale, bossy and power hungry. You see, you don’t need to rob a bank or cheat on your SAT test to be a sinner. Brattiness qualifies.
But sin has its payback. Now grown, his children all know about the apricots, a fruit they never serve. And to add to my shame, my brother shared the story with all my friends at my fiftieth birthday party.
My friends have never looked at me the same.
Good thing I have Jesus to save me from being that mean ‘Ol big sister. Sin takes many forms.
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