From My Autobiography - Family

Family

“Take her back where she came from!”

With these words, jealousy rears its ugly head and wraps its malignant tendrils around the germinating filaments of my personality the day my parents bring home my newly born sister from Moorlands.

Just over two years old, I scowl with a look of disdain at my sister’s wrinkled face as she hungrily sucks at Mum’s breast, her tiny fingers kneading the smooth flesh, stroking, caressing.

However, to me, my words are a meaningful diatribe against this strange, new interloper who has not only usurped my place in Mum’s arms against the warmth of her bosom, but also replaced me as the primary object of my parents’ affection.

No doubt, my parents later chided me for those unkind words quite clear and precise; but I didn’t know what to say about this new intrusion into our life. I enjoyed being the center of attention, and she had taken that away from me. I wanted Mum and Dad all to myself, and she had taken them away, too. I suppose, in some way, they must have found my response to a new sister somewhat amusing and believed that, in time, I would grow to love her. I did. However, that lay in the future, a time as yet unknown to me and unfathomed by my young mind. I had only the Present to which to relate.

I daresay this incident also initiated my retreat into aloneness, and my sense of not belonging. While growing up, my perception was such that I believed my parents to show favoritism towards my sister. This may or may not have been the case, but it had much to do with my sense of self-worth.

In one photo from this time, dad holds me in his left arm, and attempts to place a bottle of some sort of drink [Dandelion & Burdock?] to my mouth with his right. I gulp down several mouthfuls of the stuff before the fizz catches in my throat and I start coughing. The remaining liquid spills down the front of my jacket. Mum later scolds dad and me, but he and I only laugh at the incident.

 
In another picture, dad holds me steady on a donkey as I take a ride through Clovelly High Street in Devon.

[Our heads can be seen behind the man and boy just left of center]

In other photos, mum and I pose for pictures, for which she places me on a large rock, and the fender of a bus. Judging from the clothes we’re wearing, it must be Fall and yet, not unlike many boys my age in England in those years, I’m still wearing shorts and ankle socks.