In the little chestnut cabinet underneath the television set, there lies a collection of DVDs filmed and produced by Robert Traverse himself -- that’s my father. They’re home videos that were filmed as far back as June 25, 1997, -- that’s my birthday. He never really stopped filming my sister and I as we grew up. And there the movie series has sat, ready for watching, whenever we felt like watching it.
Growing up, when it was a rainy day and I had nothing else to do, I would treat myself by opening up the little chestnut cabinet underneath the television set and indulging on a “Chronicles of the Traverse Sisters” movie marathon -- and cringing as I watched myself sweat for the spotlight, bullying my little sister in the process.
When I was 3 years old and Corrie was 2, my mother filmed us splashing around in the tub together. I sprayed water into her face and laughed into the camera as she cried because it stung her eyes.
I was obnoxious. I watched myself dress Corrie up in ridiculous costumes, and tell her to stand directly next to me and be my background dancer while I sung to my dad who filmed us from the kitchen bar stool.
I was 15 months older than she, and because of this, she believed whatever the hell I told her, did whatever the hell I told her to do and smiled while doing it.
On her fifth birthday, we threw a party at my house. All of our relatives came, and while they watched her open up her gifts, I reached into one of the gift bags, found a “My Little Pony” coloring book with stickers in the back and ran upstairs with one of my cousins. Together, we took the stickers from the back of the book and decorated the hallway top to bottom, covering the green wallpaper in stickers.
Once we had used up all of the stickers, and the walls were sufficiently adorned, we made our way back downstairs for cake.
I had forgotten about the stickers when my dad called Corrie and I upstairs after all our guests had left. Making my way to the second floor, I figured out what had inspired his angry tone when I saw, and remembered, the newly renovated "My Little Pony” walls.
He asked which one of us had committed the act, and there was no way in hell I was admitting to it. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, then looked at Corrie whose eyebrows pinched together as she panicked at his angry inflection and said, “It wasn’t me, Dad.”
Dad said, “One of you is lying.” I just stared at him, cool and calm. I looked at Corrie. She shook her head back and forth. “Well, one of you is going to fess up to it. Otherwise, you will both be punished.”
I followed Corrie into her room and shut the door. I was determined to escape punishment, even if it was just something so small as “no ice cream after dinner.”
Don’t ask me how I did, but I somehow managed to persuade Corrie into admitting that she was the one who had stuck the stickers all over the hallway.
My alibi? They weren’t my stickers! Those stickers were her birthday present, therefore it couldn't have been me.
Yes. I was that evil.
I write this on a day following a “Traverse Sisters” movie marathon, when I have had time to reflect on the way I had taken advantage of my sister’s naive and easy going character. Maybe all older sisters treated their younger sisters this way, or maybe it was just me. Either way, I’m writing this in the hopes that all younger sisters can forgive us older sisters for our relentless harassment, and maybe, just maybe, we can even laugh about it now.
