Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

The air was made of dust. Chapter 1

Chapter 1. The air is made of dust.

My very first recollection that was not a picture memory, I was at home sitting on the floor in a very big pair of pants or probably a diaper. I gazed at the floor and noticed the heavy pattern of lines alternating back and forth in the wood on the old hardwood floor. I heard my mom come in from outside, then the door closed again and the line from the clothes line pealed back a rhythmic tune. I glanced to my left, yes now I know it was my left, over there, toward the window, as I looked up I can distinctly remember the dust particles playing in the air mass, the sun shone in from the West. When the door opened the dust danced and swirled, when the door closed the air sagged and the dust began to settle. I thought the air was made of dust. Back in the day dust was a companion, always.

We did not have much in the way of stuff, toys or play companions, we relied on each other for our sources of entertainment. My older sister Joanie was much bigger than me and very wise, but I knew not to bother her unless I was invited. I was not invited often, the age gap favoured the girls. The lessons of growing up were essentially life lessons, if you were bigger you got your way, if the other person did not like it, too bad.

I can remember my sister, Joanie wanted to play one over on me around Christmas.

My parents had some company for drinks and snacks. The children were supposed to be absent, in bed and respectfully quiet. Children were to be not seen and not heard during adult time, it made sense.

Joanie snuck into my room and said the adults wanted to see how big we had grown since they had been over from last Christmas. It seemed like it was a plan, I was five, what did I know?

She psyched me into taking my P.J.' S off just leaving me in my tidy whities, then for a show stopper I was to put her underwear on my head. It sounded like a good plan. What did I know, I was five.

She shoved me out into the middle of the room. My smile froze, my limbs felt like spaghetti, my breathing stalled. I was on an island, with no help, Joanie was giggling like a circus performer, holding both hands over her face and literally rolling on the floor in glee.

I started to dance like a trained monkey. I hopped now on one leg, then the other, stopped, and started, twirling this way and that. The adults picked up the movement and clapped in time, they all laughed and roared with enthusiasm, toasted the event as I made a hasty exist.

Joanie was confused. She wanted to beat me down for some reason. Sibling rivalry had raised its narly head. It would not be the first time, it would not be the last. She did not sync up with the family, she would later on with her own children, but not with her brothers and sister. She resented being knocked off the number one spot.