The Truth
Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 4
The Mostly True: IV.
I have a baby sister. I am officially a middle child...
The birth belongs earlier in my narration ... somewhere during the voyage is the conception. Grace was born in the USA after the return.
I was probably between nine and ten when I set her on fire. I think she was three or nearly four.
It's fuzzy ... traumatic ... heart rending ... and. not. my. fault!
The Catholic Nuns were burning the past years student homework paper. The burning barrel was up against our woven wire fence. I was out watching when the wind came up and burning papers began blowing into our trees and all over the yard. I started stomping out the fires.
Tiny Grace ran to the back yard.
"Whatcha doin, Daba?" she asked in her little girl voice. When she spoke to me she never got my name right.
"Stomping out fires," I explained.
"I wanna help," she said.
"No ... it's dangerous," I said. Although my voice may have held a bit of brag in it ... I am unsure. I didn't like being the middle and she was a pest.
Be that as it may, Grace objected.
"Momma," she screeched, "David won't let me play!" When she tattled she pronounced David to perfection.
From the back porch screen door, "David, let your sister play."
"Mom?!?"
"David, what did I say," the back porch hollered. Not a question ... a command.
Grace had that little girl satisfaction look ... I got my way again...
I hated that.
She started stomping out fires and laughing ... it was a nya-nya-nya laugh.
'Brat, ' I thought.
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