An Ignoble Account

It was kind of a sport to pick on our three-year-old sister when my brother and I were in high school.  I am ashamed to admit this now, but it's the truth.  Three-year-olds are just plain funny, expressing independence, obstinance, and emerging language all wrapped in a short human with an elf-like aesthetic.  My three year old sister, in particular was discerning beyond her years and expressed quite loudly her efforts to fit into a family whose other members were a lot older and bigger.  She also had expressive eyebrows and a theatrical little mouth.  And my brother and I could engender quite the reaction when we goaded her into madness.  It was hilarious and cute.  Yes, and mean, but I don't think we acknowledged the malice at the time. 

That isn't to say that we weren't also gentle, caring, and kind to her in the other half of our shared interactions.  Perhaps a reason for her adept perceptions and remarkable abilities was all the attention and patient leading she received not only from parents and grand-parents, but two teenaged siblings as well.  I spent a lot of time with her, especially as the occasion of my flying the nest precipitately approached.  We went to plays, painted pictures, took hikes, dug in the garden, I brought her books and stickers and treats.  Really, I adored her.  Ironically, you only ever feel at ease enough to pick on those for whom you really care about.

It was a warm summer morning, a month or two before I left for college.  I was eating breakfast at the dining room table with both of my sisters and my boyfriend.  The baby was seated in a high chair, my mom was working in the kitchen, and I was engaged in the ruffling of a three-year-old's feathers.  Her feathers became so ruffled that she molted and that's when the lecture came.  From my boyfriend.   

He said something about how pathetic my actions were just then and "You are eighteen!!  She is three!!"  He let me know in no uncertain terms how absolutely inappropriate it was for me to take advantage of her trust.  

I never picked on her again.  I was thoroughly shamed.