Requiem

I couldn't find a better title for this post that the one Christy used for hers at Firedoglake, which you can read here.

The two missing American soldiers have reportedly been found dead, and, according to an Iraqi general, their bodies show evidence of having undergone torture before being "barbarically" killed. What this means exactly is unknown.

I can't even begin to talk about this, especially after learning earlier today that a lifelong friend of my brother's – a man I've known since he and my brother stole my eyeliner at age 12 to emulate their favorite band (Motley Crue) – was killed in a freak accident as he left work yesterday evening.

I'm busy getting my home ready to host my step-sister's Sweet 16 party tonight, and I can't stop crying. Crying for a boy I knew, and two boys I didn't. Crying for the shattering heartbreak all three of their families are going through right now.

I expect we will soon hear threats of retaliation and the like from the White House, even as they blatantly ignore the hypocrisy of condemning the torture of American soldiers while other American soldiers are committing acts of torture.

I expect we will once again hear that we can't leave Iraq because – in their twisted, corrupt logic – allowing more young men and women to die will somehow give these deaths meaning.

For the past several days, Christy has been asking FDL's readers, "Had enough?"

I have grieved for a nation so wrapped up in patriotic fervor and divisive rhetoric that it allowed these deaths and every other death in this war – American and Iraqi – to occur; one that allowed 225 years of Constitutionally-guaranteed freedoms to be eroded and forgotten even as the administration told us we were bringing those same freedoms to Iraq.

I echo her sorrow at the loss of more lives in a pre-emptive war, based on this administration's lies, that sent ill-prepared children into a situation they didn't want to see.

And I most certainly echo her absolute fury at this administration:

Yes, I have damn well had enough.

Pass the candle around the blogosphere. Light up the dark corners where this administration hides its dirty work, and tell your Congressional Representatives it's time to bring our troops home.

Happy Birthday to Patty in Troy!

I'm going through a bit of the blues, and really haven't been interested in writing about all of the depressing and/or frightening things in the news. I'll get back to that eventually, but today I'm going to concentrate on something else. It's kind of a ramble, but you'll live…

*

Today is my sister Patty's birthday. Now, I am sensitive enough that I would never, ever tell her age. (*cough, graduated in 1988, cough*). I'm just 16 months older, and when she was born, I was quite fascinated with her. Right up until the day, two weeks after her birth, when I asked my mom when that baby was going back to its mom. That's when my little heart was broken, and it was revealed that this intruder was not just another kid my mom was babysitting. This one was ours….forever.

It was roughly a that point that I changed her name to Joey and began my campaign to be an only child again. I tried selling the baby to strangers in the supermarket for a quarter or a Hershey Bar, whichever. When that didn't work, I started offering quarters and/or Hershey Bars. Still no takers!

When people asked her name, I'd tell them: Greta Grindel. Who knows where I came up with that, but boy did it get funny looks. I also made up stories about how my mom had found her in a garbage can, or had stolen her, or bought her from the circus freak show, etc. Nowadays, that would get my mom locked up in a heartbeat, but back then, no one seemed to freak. They just nodded and smiled and clucked their tongues at her and laughed with my mom. Stupid baby!

When I was about two-and-a-half, I nearly ripped her little nose off her face. Not on purpose!! I had a wonderful swingset with one of those "horse" things (two people rode it like a swing, but sitting on seats while facing each other.) Now, back in the early '70s, child safety wasn't quite the big deal it is now, and swingsets had lots of metal and sharp edges. Combine all that with a kid just learning to walk in some seriously clunky leg braces, and you have a recipe for disaster.

The poor kid walked right in front of empty seat and – fast as a knife through butter – her nose was hanging by a thread. If you know where to look, you can see two tiny scars, but otherwise you'd never know she was nearly nicknamed "Noseless McGhee."

Much later, when she was about four, I discovered the practical uses for baby sisters.

You could play barbershop with them! I had a wonderful time picking up every single curl on her head and chopping it off at its base. I also discovered my mother loved the baby more than me… (Spanked, yelled at, and sent to my room. And when my dad got home, she told on me! Of course, Mom claims this was because I didn't give a very good haircut, and the baby looked like a mangy duckling when I was done.

You could also send them on exploratory missions into forbidden places your mom said you couldn't go because she never said Patty couldn't! (And then you'd get yelled at and sent to your room again.) They never seemed to understand that I tied a rope around her for a reason…so I would know if something bad got her. Then, you see, I would know WHY I wasn't supposed to go there! Okay, the rope around her neck was probably a bad idea….but it worked for the dog!

You could use them as traffic cops to stop traffic so you could ride your new bike in the road! (And then get yelled at, sent to your room and lose the bike for a month.)

But the absolute best use of my sister was to save me from the horrible, terrible, and truly evil "buckets."
For whatever reason, I was terrified of crickets, and so, God sent me a sister who would eat absolutely anything. She didn't have to be told; she just did it. Dirt, plants, dog biscuits, etc. And, in an act of true love that was repeated many times, she ate the bad crickets whenever I saw one. Thankfully, I outgrew my fear, and she outgrew eating nasty stuff.

Whenever I was punished (which was a lot) I pouted and whined about how unfair it was. I'd cry over how much she loved the baby, and – naturally – how much she didn't love me.

This was when I learned The Worm Song, which my mother duly passed on down the line to all the other siblings. Leo Buscaglia would have loved my mother. She didn't kill herself trying to prove her love – she just showed us with equal parts love and exasperation. Naturally, we all passed The Worm Song down to our own children whenever they whined or pouted about being unloved.

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me
I'm gonna go eat worms.
Big ones and fat ones
Juicy ones and fuzzy ones.
I'm gonna go eat worms.

I have no idea where it comes from, or what sick mind came up with it, but it's always been a favorite.

Anyway….

Time passed, and a brother showed up five years after Patty, then another sister two years after him, and yet another brother showed up two years after her. (My mother really did not understand that I wanted less siblings, not more!)

Once Patty and I hit the pre-teens, she stopped being my little Odie and started rebelling against my wishes. She actually seemed to think she wasn't a slave! When I refused to give up my dictatorship, she became my mortal enemy.

Our fights were – and still are – legendary amongst our younger siblings…and the kids who rode our bus. (Yes, I really did bang her head off the furnace, and yes, she really did pull a clump of hair out of my scalp.)

But heaven help the outsider who tried to do the same. No matter how angry we might have been with each other, this did not extend to allowing other people to hurt one or the other of us.

Even while we were busy hating each other, she was my best friend. No one else on earth knew just how horrible a parent our mother was for making us go out and weed her humongous vegetable garden as punishment for fighting. No one else ever understood just how awful it was to have little baby kids hanging around all the time when you were trying to impress your friends. And certainly no one else on earth had it as rough as we did!

As teenagers we outgrew the fights and being Garfield and Odie, but we never outgrew the love and the deep bond we share as sisters. Our mom often told all five of us that we had to be good to each other because someday we would be the only people who will remember those wonderful moments. She also told us that one day, we would appreciate our siblings, and she was right.

I'm lucky to have Patty as my sister. One who remembers all the things I did to her and loves me anyway.

Happy Birthday Joey!

Love, Jenn