My brother's birthday is today. He's 58 years old. As is custom with the Walker siblings, we'll post photos of us and the birthday person through the years. As I was looking for something to share, I found these. And the memories came flooding back - and not all associated with these pics, this situation, is good.
I was born in Jan, my sister, 18 months later in July, and Brett came a couple of months before I turned 4. My father was getting a son! My mother had given birth to Sheri and me in the Maternity Home in Rigby, and Brett followed suit (interestingly, 2 other cousins were born at that same time, and they all made the local news).
I'm pretty sure he was born in the morning, and if I remember correctly, I was sleeping in my parents bed, with my Jensen grandparents, when the call came that we had a baby brother, and Sheri and I jumped up and down on that bed, we were giddy with little girl anticipation.
My father was so excited! He wanted to make the "pick-up" for Brett and Mom extra special, so with Mom's encouragement, Dad took us to Idaho Falls to buy winter coats for 2 little girls. I would imagine that my mother asked Dad to get us something warm, something that would fit us all season, and coats that were practical.
Well, my father seldom did anything practical first - pretty first, practical second. And we ended up with these lovely "fur" coats, that were cream colored with brown highlights. So warm, fuzzy, pretty; Grandpa said we looked like 2 little Eskimo's.
And here is my memory -
Being so proud of that new coat, so proud of Dad for picking matching coats for us, and feeling so fancy standing in the sunlight getting our pictures taken.
Meeting my baby brother for the first time, just being taken in by the beauty of this new being, and at nearly 4, feeling a sense of time.
My mother - so upset with my dad for not buying practical coats. Didn't he know these would get dirty so fast, that they wouldn't be valuable playing in the snow, and for sure they'd wear out before the season was over.
I felt shame. Shame because I was happy in my new coat, and yet I knew that what we had and what Mom wanted were not the same, and sorrow for my father who didn't follow Mom's directions, and sorrow for Mom who couldn't see the pride in my father's eyes as he showed us, and baby brother, off.
And I remember then knowing I had to make a choice between protecting my mother or protecting my father, feeling the angst in my belly, and knowing I would always have to choose between practical/Mom and pretty/Dad. And wondering if I would ever be able to make either happy. If a pretty fluffy coat and a brand new baby boy, couldn't do, what would?
Mom's "pretty" typically sat on a shelf or behind closet doors, only to come out for a special occasion, if at all. Hoarded, almost, because, in her words, "I seldom had anything nice." Practical, frugal, careful, cautious, scared - all words that come to mind when I think of choices and my mother.
Dad's "pretty" was always on display, and he was often chastened for spending too much money or time on nice, or having something out that may be broken or be seen as prideful. Adventuresome, creative, risk-taker, considerate - all words that come to mind when I think of choices and my father.
As I've been cleaning and sorting at Mother's house this past month, this has been reinforced over and over. The closets and shelves still speak this same story - Dad's on display; Mom's behind closed doors.
Yet the trigger - the story - the beautiful coats - the sense of pride and pretty and shine - deflated that day, with shame and guilt and inadequacy taking the place of delight and beauty and self. And to this day I dance in both worlds, and often feel the emotions of that little girl, over and over and over again.
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