What's up with younger siblings? Always in the way, always getting hurt, and always ruining the fun. Yes, I have a younger sister, and her younger name is Suzannah. It took me until about age 12 to learn how to spell her name, between the 1 z"", 2 "n's", and the silent "h". I love her to death. But growing up, there may have been a time or two when I wouldn't have said that. And I still have to think "one z, 2 n's" every time I write out her name. Spellcheck can't even get it right.
Suzannah was a typical younger sister. She was like a volunteer police officer for mom and dad. She was their personal tape recorder/video camera. If I ever did anything wrong, Suzannah was there to tattle her tail off. If she wasn't sure if what I had done was wrong, she would cover her basis and tattle anyway. My dad remembers lil 'susan coming to them when she was small, and saying "I just thought you should know that they are doing xxx in there." Yes, she would tattle on Elizabeth, but only if it got me in trouble as well (Her apparent disdain for me was stronger than her adoration of her older sister). But everyone that has a younger sibling knows what this is like. She was a narc, a rat, and fond of the citizen's arrest. Actually, once she got older and wiser, she learned that she could just lie to mom and dad about something I had done. They'd come in lighting me up with the belt and I'd be clueless as to what was happening, only later to find out that Suzannah just wanted me to get into trouble because she was so jealous of how cool I was. As big of a turd as she was (and still is...), she was cuter and sweeter than me, making her more believable than me. (As a note for me, I eventually learned that since she was going to lie to get me into trouble anyway, I'd just be quick to pelt her with rubber bands or my fists so at least I didn't get into trouble for nothing...)
But alas, this story is not about Suzannah's uncanny gift with propaganda and the free child's press. This story is about Suzannah just simply ruining a good day.
Par for a summer afternoon, all of the neighborhood kids were in our back yard playing ball. Mom always made us include Suzann"waaa" in games that were way over her head, so she was playing too. She was the youngest one out there, the most clueless, and the worst. In fact, she was probably on my team just to piss me off, but I can't remember for sure. It's not like it mattered, because she just refused to let us finish the game.
I was probably playing shortstop, or wherever the best player played, because I was the best neighborhood all-american ball player we had. Well, at least I wasn't the worst. In nobody's eyes was Suzannah the best, so we stuck her at catcher where she just had to run down the ball and throw it back to the pitcher. Pretty easy position where the only time she touched the ball was when it wasn't in play. You can't screw it up.
At least, any other kid couldn't screw it up. Suzannah, or course, screwed it up. A part of playing catcher that always goes unsaid, because it shouldn't have to be said, is to stay well behind the batter...
My neighbor Jennifer was up to bat. I don't know if she could hit the ball, but my land she swung for the fence every time. On one particular pitch, Jennifer had it in her mind to knock the ball through a neighbor's window 3 blocks away. She came close to knocking out that window. Unfortunately, with Suzannah's head in place of the ball.
Jennifer swung. It was one of those swings where all you see is a slight blur where the path of the bat arcs through the air as it pummels through its path. She missed the ball. And the bat continued on its arc. Of course, Suzannah's face was on the tail end of the arc. At the point in space that equalled Vmax (maximum velocity). Really, Jennifer couldn't had executed it any better. With a split-second thud as the bat opened flesh followed by an echoing crack in which the metal bat kissed my sister's frontal bone, the bat disappeared into suzannah's head. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. And all the fun we were having abruptly came to an end.
Winner, by TKO in the 3rd inning, Jennifer Johnson!
Suzannah was bleeding like Winston's cat-snack, and her puddle of blood got bigger, and bigger, and bigger. All the neighborhood adults were hanging out on the back patio and thought "oh please don't let it be my kid.." as they raced to the sound of skull-crunch. They all came running, and my mom didn't seem surprised at all to find that it was Suzannah that had been bat-whacked in the face. Suzannah had a knack for ruining things.
She wasn't that old, but she bled like a stuck pig. Jennifer had Barry Bondsed her forehead, and I'm pretty sure her feet were out of blood by the time it was all said and done. Mom picked her up and ran her inside, getting blood all over herself and the already soaked Suzannah.
The neighbors teamed up to scrub the blood off of our back patio. I've never tracked a shot deer, but if it looks like the mess that Suzannah made, I don't think it'd be very hard. Meanwhile, mom and dad decided to take Suzannah to the emergency before all of her O-pos was donated to the ground.
In all the excitement, I was pretty ticked that I had to stop my game because Suzannah didn't know to avoid a freaking baseball bat. I had told her "hit the ball with the bat and catch the ball with your glove", and somehow she decided that this meant "catch the bat with your face". Which she did very well. Seriously, Suzannah?
Although my game was ruined, there is a diamond in every rough. While dad and mom were at the hospital getting Suzannah sewn shut, Jennifer's parents took me to Barnette's, a local ice cream and burger place, for dinner. Which was awesome. We never got to go out to eat growing up, so any opportunity to consume beef smothered in ketchup, mustard, and enclosed by bun was an event to remember. And I still do.
While Suzannah was enduring the pain of needles and sutures, I got to eat a burger and ice cream. Karma, baby.
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