| General Non-Fiction posted March 18, 2022 |
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Don't you dare call me ...
That name!
by Wendy G
True Story Contest Winner
My brother Graham must have often felt lonely.
How could that be? He was the eldest of five – but the other four were girls. I was the eldest girl.
We felt that he was privileged, as he always had his own bedroom. We girls were two to a room, and knew there was no prospect of having our own space. Graham felt we were beneath him. Perhaps we resented his status. However, in our rooms we always played "girl games" – brother excluded.
At a time when it was fashionable for young girls to be a little chubby and have plump rosy cheeks, I was skinny and pale. My next sister, two years younger, was taller and bigger. To my chagrin, people often assumed she was older.
Our grandmother would pluck at my skinny stick-like arms and question whether I ate enough – and then turn to my sister and pinch her pretty red cheeks with delight, complimenting her on how very well she looked. I was very self-conscious about being the "skinny one" – yes, I had heard them say it! Or, even "the runt" of the family.
Graham was a merciless tease. Perhaps any attention was better than none. He devised nicknames for each sister, as brothers do. I hated my nickname – and he knew it. He always called me this name away from our parents' hearing – of course! Often I would pretend to ignore him, and just smile until he looked away, annoyed at my lack of reaction.
Nevertheless the name hurt, as it incorporated the aspect of my being "skinny". He created the horrid nick-name "Skendy", from "Skinny Wendy".
One morning he called me that name, yet again, as we were walking to school together. I stopped. I'd had enough.
"Don't you call me that! Ever again!" I stormed.
"Or …?" he taunted, smirking.
I felt a little trapped.
"Or … or I will punch you in the face!" I declared. My heart sank. What a stupid thing to say!
"Ha! I'm not scared! You're only a girl! You wouldn't dare! You're a sissy!"
Now, I was not very brave, that's true. But he'd pushed me into a corner.
"Of course I would! I'm not scared of you!" I lied.
"Go on! Punch me!"
So I did. Hard! Right on the jaw - as hard as a skinny ten-year-old girl could punch a twelve year-old much bigger boy.
He started to cry.
"I told you I would!" I declared triumphantly.
He cried most of the way to school. However, he never called me "that name" again! Our parents never asked about the red mark on his jaw.
My brother Graham must have often felt lonely.
How could that be? He was the eldest of five – but the other four were girls. I was the eldest girl.
We felt that he was privileged, as he always had his own bedroom. We girls were two to a room, and knew there was no prospect of having our own space. Graham felt we were beneath him. Perhaps we resented his status. However, in our rooms we always played "girl games" – brother excluded.
At a time when it was fashionable for young girls to be a little chubby and have plump rosy cheeks, I was skinny and pale. My next sister, two years younger, was taller and bigger. To my chagrin, people often assumed she was older.
Our grandmother would pluck at my skinny stick-like arms and question whether I ate enough – and then turn to my sister and pinch her pretty red cheeks with delight, complimenting her on how very well she looked. I was very self-conscious about being the "skinny one" – yes, I had heard them say it! Or, even "the runt" of the family.
Graham was a merciless tease. Perhaps any attention was better than none. He devised nicknames for each sister, as brothers do. I hated my nickname – and he knew it. He always called me this name away from our parents' hearing – of course! Often I would pretend to ignore him, and just smile until he looked away, annoyed at my lack of reaction.
Nevertheless the name hurt, as it incorporated the aspect of my being "skinny". He created the horrid nick-name "Skendy", from "Skinny Wendy".
One morning he called me that name, yet again, as we were walking to school together. I stopped. I'd had enough.
"Don't you call me that! Ever again!" I stormed.
"Or …?" he taunted, smirking.
I felt a little trapped.
"Or … or I will punch you in the face!" I declared. My heart sank. What a stupid thing to say!
"Ha! I'm not scared! You're only a girl! You wouldn't dare! You're a sissy!"
Now, I was not very brave, that's true. But he'd pushed me into a corner.
"Of course I would! I'm not scared of you!" I lied.
"Go on! Punch me!"
So I did. Hard! Right on the jaw - as hard as a skinny ten-year-old girl could punch a twelve year-old much bigger boy.
He started to cry.
"I told you I would!" I declared triumphantly.
He cried most of the way to school. However, he never called me "that name" again! Our parents never asked about the red mark on his jaw.
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Writing Prompt True Family Story/ MUST include You and a Sibling(s)--brother(s) and/or sister(s). It may have been told to you. Sibling's name(s) will be mentioned in first paragraph Word count 400-450 No vulgar words, profanity, or sex/sexual terms of any kind in dialogue/scenes No satire, war stories, or Dear John letters No deathbed stories in hospital, home, or hospice care though death of people may be included /No adoption stories of any kind |
True Story Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
#71 March 2022 |
I was a shy and reserved child, so the punch was quite out of character for me. But sometimes "a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do!"
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