Lenette was the fortunate one. Being three years younger than her sister, Marjorie, meant the path had been cleared. Marjorie served as the parents’ “Practice Kid,” or as Marjorie put it, the “You’ll-have-to wait-till-your-older” kid.
Marjorie couldn’t have a bike because her dad, a policeman, said she might get hit by a car. Instead, she was given a giant tricycle with extra-long streamers. Pathetic for a six-year-old, but at least she had a little freedom to ride up and down the street, so it didn’t matter. Until Lenette got a two-wheeler at five.”
“You can share,” her parents reasoned. Of course, Marjorie rarely got a turn. It didn’t matter. She was busy with other things by then.
Marjorie couldn’t have shoe-skates at nine because they weren’t necessary. She had the ugly metal ones that clamped onto her shoes and needed a skate key to tighten. She was given a long, thick chain and an extra skate key, just in case. But tooling around the carport in the apartment complex, she felt free, so it didn’t matter. Until the left skate kept falling off and she tumbled down time after time, making her lose races with the other kids, even though she was faster. Until Lenette received the bright white, shiny lace-up skates for her seventh birthday, it didn’t really matter. But then it did.
Sometimes Lenette would “rent” Marjorie the shoe skates for thirty-minutes if Marjorie did all the house chores. Marjorie would always win the races then, but she hated housework so much it just wasn’t worth the sacrifice. Besides, the skates were really too small, and she had to crunch up her toes just to get her feet in. She was really too old for racing by then anyway.
“You can’t date at fifteen. Not going to happen,” her parents dictated. Lenette had a boyfriend at thirteen. They’d just go to the movies or to the park, but it felt unfair to Marjorie.
At sixteen, Marjorie wanted to buy a pair of white go-go boots for a school dance. “No, absolutely not. They will make you look like a hooker,” came the verdict. At fourteen, Lenette wore a pair of white go-go boots to a party. “You look so cute, “her mom, said.
“Marjorie, maybe you should get a pair of these,” Lenette suggested. “Here, try them on. Marjorie, Marjorie?”
Marjorie just left the house.
— Mugsy
Marjorie couldn’t have a bike because her dad, a policeman, said she might get hit by a car. Instead, she was given a giant tricycle with extra-long streamers. Pathetic for a six-year-old, but at least she had a little freedom to ride up and down the street, so it didn’t matter. Until Lenette got a two-wheeler at five.”
“You can share,” her parents reasoned. Of course, Marjorie rarely got a turn. It didn’t matter. She was busy with other things by then.
Marjorie couldn’t have shoe-skates at nine because they weren’t necessary. She had the ugly metal ones that clamped onto her shoes and needed a skate key to tighten. She was given a long, thick chain and an extra skate key, just in case. But tooling around the carport in the apartment complex, she felt free, so it didn’t matter. Until the left skate kept falling off and she tumbled down time after time, making her lose races with the other kids, even though she was faster. Until Lenette received the bright white, shiny lace-up skates for her seventh birthday, it didn’t really matter. But then it did.
Sometimes Lenette would “rent” Marjorie the shoe skates for thirty-minutes if Marjorie did all the house chores. Marjorie would always win the races then, but she hated housework so much it just wasn’t worth the sacrifice. Besides, the skates were really too small, and she had to crunch up her toes just to get her feet in. She was really too old for racing by then anyway.
“You can’t date at fifteen. Not going to happen,” her parents dictated. Lenette had a boyfriend at thirteen. They’d just go to the movies or to the park, but it felt unfair to Marjorie.
At sixteen, Marjorie wanted to buy a pair of white go-go boots for a school dance. “No, absolutely not. They will make you look like a hooker,” came the verdict. At fourteen, Lenette wore a pair of white go-go boots to a party. “You look so cute, “her mom, said.
“Marjorie, maybe you should get a pair of these,” Lenette suggested. “Here, try them on. Marjorie, Marjorie?”
Marjorie just left the house.
— Mugsy
Oh! I feel so bad for Marjorie, but Lenette, oh i ubderstsnd how Marjorie feels. Thank you for a good read
ReplyDeleteI was the first child and always had to be the responsible one. Of course, my parents took a lot more photos of me than my younger brother. I enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking that the parents actually were better off financially by the time Lenette was born, or at least by the time she wanted "stuff." Being the firstborn means you are not only the "practice kid," but you have to share the economic situation of a brand new family with a young father just starting out in his career. Or something like that. I have the feeling that Marjorie is going to be OK, though. She'll "leave the house" for good sometime soon, and will make her own way and treat herself the way she wanted to be treated. Maybe. Maybe. Very "real," Mugsy! ---Macoff
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