Family Is Family, Warts and All, So Love Them

Vicki, Bud, and Carol

I have now known my sister and brother longer than I knew my parents, who are deceased, and I treasure each and every moment Vicki and Bud are a part of my life, so I simply cannot understand why some siblings are estranged from one another.

Though it’s difficult to admit and even more difficult to realize, I am a member of the “older generation” in my family, given that my parents and all of my aunts and uncles are deceased; and perhaps as a result, I seem to pay more attention to certain things than I did when I was younger. For one, I have recently begun to notice how so many people today do not communicate with their siblings and, in many cases, say they haven’t communicated with them in years. Worse, many of these same people often say they have no desire to communicate with their siblings and, in fact, have no use for their siblings at all and have even disowned them.  And, personally, I find this state of affairs quite tragic. After all, as my daddy always said, “Family is family.” 

I have two siblings, a sister, Vicki, who is two years and eight months older, and a brother, Bud (His given name is Alton, but we call him Bud), who is two years and seven months younger. See, Mama and Daddy believed in spacing the births of their “young’uns,” perhaps so Mama would have only one in diapers at any given time, since she had her children back in the Pre-Pampers Era and we were so poor she had to boil the laundry in an iron pot over an open fire in the backyard.

Anyway, despite the age difference between the three of us, Vicki, Bud, and I were inseparable when we were growing up back in rural Georgia. Granted, the fact that we lived in the country and didn’t have any other children around, except for the occasional visiting cousin with whom we could play, probably contributed to our inseparability. Yet, I like to think that even if we hadn't enjoyed each other's companionship so much, we would still have been friends, as well as siblings, and found time for one another. After all, family is family. 

As typical children, yes, my siblings and I had our squabbles. In fact, we sometimes got into yelling-screaming-kicking-pinching-biting fights, but after those fights were over (and they were always short-lived, probably because either Mama or Daddy—sometimes both—invariably intervened with an expertly wielded peach switch), Vicki, Bud, and I went right back to peacefully coexisting and enjoying each other’s company. We rode bicycles. We played softball. We played Monopoly, Checkers, Parcheesi, Old Maids, and Go-Fish. We made lean-tos and even entire Indian villages in the piney woods near the house. We waded in the creek. We caught fireflies in Mason jars. We played Red Rover, Simon Says, and May I? We watched Saturday morning cartoons. We set up our Sears & Roebuck Roy Rogers’ ranches in the sandbox that Daddy refreshed with new sand each summer (we shared the sandbox with the cats, but being poor country kids, we never gave hygiene much thought). My point is that my siblings and I played together; we argued together; we laughed together; and, at times, we cried together; but we were siblings, and that’s what siblings did.  

Of course, like all siblings, the three of us grew older, and as we did, we developed individual interests, found hobbies, made new friends, fell in love, got married, had children, moved away from Fairburn, moved back, moved away again, changed careers, changed spouses, had grandchildren, and did all the things siblings have always done and probably will continue doing for centuries to come. And we occasionally had our differences and some fairly heated ones at that. But through it all—through all the changes, through all the trials and tribulations, through all the laughter and the tears, and the arguments—we were always there for one another. And we were also there to comfort one another when our mama died, as we were six years later when our daddy died. But that’s what family did, and we were family. And we still are. Even now, with the three of us fast closing in on our “Twilight Years” and living hundreds of miles apart, we stay in contact. In fact, although our face-to-face visits are limited, we call each other at least once a week, though usually more often, just to say, “Hi, how are you? Are you happy? Are you well? Do you remember when—?”

What most people fail to consider is how, if they live long enough, they will actually have known their siblings longer than they knew their parents. I have now known my sister almost 29 years longer than I knew my mother and 23 years longer than I knew my daddy. And perhaps that’s sad, but it’s also reassuring in a way—to know that Vicki and Bud have always been there for me. Then again, the reality is that we will not always be there for one another, which is why I intend to treasure my sister and brother each and every day that I live. No, they are not perfect. Neither am I. But we love one another, and as Daddy said, “Family is family.” I just wish other people understood this. If they did, they would not disown their siblings. Instead, they would pick up the telephone, call their brother or sister, and say, “Hi, how are you? Do you remember when—?”