Chapter four-The King arrives

My brother, "the King" was born when I was about five years old. I was at school that morning, and we had just received lunch recess, when I saw my father's black car come rolling up the hill, on the Main Road that led down to our home. My mother was sitting in the front seat and they looked very happy as if they had won the lottery. They did not see me coming out of the school yard as there were so many children running out of the school yard at the same time, and heading home for lunch. So daddy did not stop to pick me up. But it was only a short walk to the house from school, literally a hop and a skip. I was a big girl now and could walk home alone. I got home just as they were piling my mother, her belongings and the baby wrapped up in blue swaddling cloth whom she peered at as if he was the second coming of Christ, out of the black Humber.

Suffice to say my brother's grand arrival was marked by all the pomp and circumstance of a Royal birth. It seemed everybody came to look at him and give my parents their congratulations, as if it was such an accomplishment to have a son, as if having four daughters was no big deal at all. This was not sitting very well with me at all.

Plus, my brother's birth shuffled my place in the clan. He was the only son, the only grandson too and this propelled him into the spotlight, pushing me back behind his shadow. Was there a bit of envy there on my part? Did I envy my brother? Of course. Of course. For all intents and purposes, my brother might as well have been called HRH the Prince of Glory Alley and we might as well have been his dutiful subjects, because that is how it was. I could not compete with the production of a male heir. This was tough, I guess, a bruise to my ego, as until his welcomed arrival, I was still center stage. But even Granny Avie cooed over this child, sometimes so much so that I worried she'd forget just how much she loved me. I have to say my brother's arrival relegated us girls to second class citizen status. And it was fine, I guess. None of us really knew what to make of him to tell you the truth. He was a different species, one we were not used to in our close-knit clan and it was clearly going to take a whole lot of adjustments.

And I adjusted. Boy did I adjust. But, as is true now, there is only so much I am prepared to tolerate before my cup is filled. And once my cup is filled and starts to overflow, well, maybe I'm not so charming anymore. And so, I guess the confrontation was inevitable. I mean, how long and for how many years was I to take a backseat to my brother?

So, one day, I put my foot down. I had had enough of all the disparate treatment. I had enough of feeling invisible, as if me and my sisters no longer counted in the household. I did what any self respecting nine year old would do in a situation like that which I found myself in. I demanded fair and equal treatment under that roof. You got that right.

Here's the scenario. As HRH grew, my father took to taking him to see Karate films every Sunday at the Gem Cinemas in Town. At the same time, we, the four girls would be left home to entertain ourselves with dollies or whatever it was we chose to do for our own entertainment. I mean, excuse me. This was fine once. It may have been fine twice. But once I realized it was a pattern of discrimination, I stood up one day and demanded of my father (in dialect mind you) "Oh, so he's the king and we're the dogs?!" My father gaped at me in shock. "What are you saying? Why are you taking this tone with me?" he demanded. "Well," I said simply, "we want to go to the movies too."

Naturally my father was astonished by my candor and bravery. My father was not a stern man by any means, but he was my father and I challenging him about something he took for granted: Sunday afternoon bonding sessions with his son. I had no problem with father/son bonding, but it seemed to me that we girls had eyes and we could enjoy a movie now and then too. It seemed fundamentally unfair that just because we were girls we were being left home. And it got to the point that I couldn't shut up about it anymore. It didn't matter how scared I was of the consequences. It didn't matter that I was shaking in fear of reprisal. I had to speak my mind. I had to speak my truth.

I remember my father looked at me with a funny expression. He was bewildered, but he was guilty as charged and there was nothing he could do but respect me for standing up to him. Right was right and wrong was wrong. He said, "okay girls, get dressed. I'm taking you all to the movies!"

Needless to say, we were thrilled to bits.