Big Sister

#11 in the series, "A Legacy of Stories." Written by my dad, Forest Jordan

(Read about A Legacy of Stories, here.)

Big Sister

Big Sister Julia called Tuesday to wish me happy birthday and that stirred old memories. She is the oldest of the six children in our family - fourteen years older than myself. She is one of three Sisters who, by turns, rode herd on the younger siblings, Richard, and myself. Julia left the family fold to teach at a country school when I was about five years old. She was often home on weekends and in the summers except for the months she and Martha worked at resorts at nearby lakes.

Ever the ideal big sister, kind, gentle, and thoughtful, she could also be firm. I remember a well-deserved spanking from her when I was six. I was chasing the neighbors’ cat and Julia saw me. Mother was away. Julia called from our front porch across the street, “Stop that right now and come here.” I ignored her and then in an angry tone she said, “come here!” This time I knew what was coming.

In a happier moment she gave me a small teddy bear which now hibernates in a drawer upstairs. Her best gift, though, was a bag of blocks at Christmas. It was a sizable bag. “Let’s see what you can do with these,” she said. The teacher was coming out in her. The blocks were various sizes and shapes and I learned to make cabins, and forts to battle fierce Indians. It was a wonderful way to while away the time when housebound by a Michigan winter. After she began teaching, Julia found a boyfriend, or more likely, he found her since she was, and still is, demure. His name was Fred. He drove a 1926 Nash, a huge tank. I remember the car well after nearly 70 years, because I once steered it, or rather, tried to.

My day at the wheel began on a Saturday afternoon.. Fred asked to take Julia for a drive in the country and mother said, “fine and take your brother with you, Julia. “There must have been silent groans at the thought of a five-year-old chaperon. Anyway so we set off, meandering slowly along country roads. There’s something about having a little brother along when your boyfriend wants a kiss. Fred had an answer. He put me on his lap and said, “Now you steer the car. Keep it on this side of the road.” This sounds dangerous, but one must realize there were relatively few cars on rural byways in those days. We were creeping along an empty gravel road. I remember being frightened by having such a big task, but I was too timid to say no. The car had a large, stiff wooden steering wheel. Fred, meanwhile had turned his attention to Julia.

The road sloped gently to the right and the big auto followed. Try as I might, I could not move the wheel. I was frozen to it in fear. I didn’t want to tell Fred I couldn’t do the job. Why did he give me this to do, anyway. I looked over quickly. His face was against Julia’s face and the car was going off the road. Fred must have felt the bump because he grabbed the wheel quickly as we entered a shallow ditch and pulled the lumbering auto back to safety. Thus ended my first driving lesson. Julia and Fred married some months later. It was the depth of the depression, and like many others they had a hard time of it, even living at our house for a while.

Eventually Fred found work on a farm and later in a foundry. They were now raising a family, which grew to five children. In the early forties, they moved into a large house set back in a wood between two lakes. It was a great place for Sunday gatherings of our fast-extending family. Julia presided over the potluck meals. Aside from the food there was horseshoes, softball, swimming and of course exploring in the woods. As time passed, Julia and her family moved into town to be near a high school.

The children later scattered and we also moved away. Julia and I last met about four years ago at the funeral for our sister, Martha. Julia, as always, was thin. And now her frail body was stooped and twisted by arthritis. But the sense of humor and gentle nature persisted. We seldom see each other and there is another generation in the family that I don’t even know. But I hope they have wonderful gatherings, and memories, too.

Forest Jordan

Feb. 14, 2000