By Mydnite Angel™ © 2009
When we were younger, my parents used to throw dinner parties for all of their colleagues in the education and music fields. It was the type of deal where you parade your kids in front of your guests, exchange the ubiquitous “Oh, look how they’ve grown” comments and then shoo us off to bed; this night was no different.
For a while there, I wanted to get back at my baby brother for being the only one my mother gave birth to (I thought she was pregnant with my brother and also a watermelon – hey, I was 8 and they had lied to me, gimme a break here). I thought it was my obligation as his older sister to torture him at every turn. Well, 6 years after my disappointment we found ourselves yet again in front of family and friends adoring eyes (during one of those bi-monthly dinner parties) when one of my father’s friends asked us all what we wanted to be when we grew up; we all responded with specifics except for my brother. All he could do was squeal, “I don’t know what I want to be yet.” One gentleman in the group said, “Young man, you really should know what you want to be, so that you can start now and work your way toward that goal!” My brother’s lip poked out and he worried as we walked upstairs towards our bedrooms. He was upset because he was a kid. “But I’m only 6, how do I know what to be? I’m a kid.” As to alleviate his fears (as most loving sisters would do), I gave my brother a dictionary lesson laced with some career advice. “Do you know what a homosexual is?” I asked the little dweeb, “It’s a wealthy businessman!” He was so excited that he bolted down the stairs and burst into the middle of the living room and announced loudly “I KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP!” The quite loud group of adults brought their merrymaking down to a dull roar so they could hear my brothers decision. . . . “I WANT TO BE A HOMOSEXUAL!” there was. . . .
SILENCE
It only took 15 seconds. . . “SANDI!!!!!!!!!” damn! How did my mom know it was me? Man, I was put on a 2 week punishment after that. No matter where I went, no matter what I did I was to have my annoying baby brother by my side at all times, with the exception of school. I had to sit with him when he took a bath, he had to sleep in my room, he went with me to visit my friends; everywhere I went, he had to be with me 24/7. 2 weeks???? Good laawwd, I was far from happy. Because I am a glutton for punishment, the first thing that came to mind was to teach my brother a lesson for getting me in trouble (skewed thinking at it’s finest). The next day I had to run a bank errand for my mother immediately after school, and yes, I had to have my baby brother in tow. I made sure he was presentable and took great care in dressing him. . . in a dress, ankle socks with frilly lace and one of my mother’s wigs. I thought “Yup, that ought to do it”. Yeah, a glutton for punishment is putting it lightly.
Before I got ½ way home, my mom had received several calls about my outing and by the time I got home the phone was ringing off the hook, it was Mommy. “No Ma’am, I’m not trying to be funny. Yes Ma’am he’s wearing a dress, but it wasn’t from your keepsake box. Yes Ma’am, I put one of your wigs on him, I didn’t think the dress would look right without the right hairdo. No Mommy, yes Mommy. I, I, I. . . I know Mommy, I’ll take it off of him, I’m sorry Mommy, I won’t do it again.” I hung up the phone amazed that I still had my eardrum intact (but it wouldn’t stay that way for long – but that’s a different story for a different time). I took the outfit off of the little heathen and told him how lucky he was that I didn’t take his picture. He heard the word “picture” and took off to hide upstairs. Punk
Fast forward to 2009. I’m driving home with my then girlfriend in the car when I get a call from my loving baby brother. Hey sis, I just thought I’d tell ya what happened to me. “Sure, ok, go ahead”. My baby brother, who is now 6’2” and 300lbs of solid muscle, called to recount the story of how he was hired by his state police troop. You see, after his successful interview with this particular police department, he was scheduled for a polygraph (lie detector) test. After answering many questions, the test examiner asked the question that spiked my brother’s heart rate enough to register his anxiety on the test paper. . . “Have you ever worn women’s clothing?”
Shaking his head and swallowing heard, my brother reluctantly answered, “yes”. He explained what happened at the conclusion of the exam, to his chagrin but to the delight of the examiner. I started yelling, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to come back and haunt you! Oh man I’m sorry!!” I kept whimpering but yet I kept giggling. Sadistic huh!
A few days later, he received the news that he landed the job. His new boss, the commanding officer called him in to complete the new hire paperwork and get fitted for his uniform. As the paperwork was being finalized and he got up to get fitted for his vest, the commanding officer asked, “What color was the dress?”
Floored and truly surprised, all my brother could muster was an embarrassed laugh. Thinking since it is his boss, of course he had to know the results of the polygraph. Ok.
I’m still on the phone laughing and yet apologizing, but he wasn’t done torturing me with his payback. He, of course, at the beginning of his first shift, went to the officers briefing. Sitting amongst his new peers, the sergeant giving out the assignments, rifles through his papers and bellows various officers names out, followed by their orders. The sergeant yells “Smith” to which my brother answers. “In order to assign you appropriately, I need to ask this question. . . “What color was the dress?” As I screamed in laughter, he told me that he had laughed in response and murmured about paying me back under his breath. Then an officers voice from the back of the room yells out, “probably pale yellow!”
It was.
