MEMORIES

By Marion Kelley Bullock

Memories are elusive. Sometimes they hide right around the corner and refuse to appear. At other times, they simply pop up, unannounced, surprising us with their clarity.
In writing this, I recalled some things almost verbatim, but others were shrouded with a fine mist. At times such as that, I had to go by instinct, saying “I think this is the way it is.” You see, no two persons remember everything the same way. This is what I remember.
BABY SISTER
I don’t know when I first realized it wasn’t just me anymore. But I do remember helping take care of someone smaller than I. This actually began when I was fourteen months of age, because that’s when my little sister was born. I suppose, since I was underfoot anyway, Mother appealed to me to help with my new Baby Sister. “Bring me a diaper,” she probably said, and I soon began to get the hang of it. “Baby It-ta wet,” I chirped, when I touched a soggy cloth diaper. “Baby It-ta want nim-bot,” I appealed, when she cried for her bottle. I was given what my parents termed a ninny-bottle when I was hungry, so I had to make sure my little sister fared as well. I addressed any number of needs. In fact, I took my job so seriously that Barbara didn’t ask for anything. She simply pointed and I told Mother what she wanted.
Years later, Mother confided that they had feared Barbara might never learn to talk, because she didn’t have to. I did all her talking for her.
It could have been claimed that I kept my sister from learning to talk, by second-guessing her every time she opened her little mouth. But think of it this way. I had experience. I was more than a year ahead of her, so I merely wanted to pave the way.
I protected my sister on any number of occasions. I’m sure I did, even though I don’t remember specifics. That’s what older siblings are for.
When I was very small, even before I had a little sister, Mother left me sitting in the kitchen floor, one day, chomping on dry cornflakes. They were in my little orchid potty, which I was allowed to carry around with me, since it was no longer used for its original purpose. When she returned to the kitchen, I was actually chewing pieces of a green glass ash tray, which I had broken into my potty. I was rushed to the hospital, in case any of the glass was ingested, and I never repeated that blunder. Neither did my sister. I watched her like a hawk and kept her from such foolishness.

God is in the business of protecting His children. Parents, brothers and sisters, and friends can only do so much. It's God to whom we turn for the ultimate protection.
"God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble." Psalm 46:1 NIV