EXCERPT FROM "SWITCH"

My grandmother sometimes called me "Judas" because she said that whenever she saw my three sisters and me topple out of the backseat of the family car, I was always the one "tote'n the poke."  Her reference was to the money bag that so preoccupied the infamous betrayer of Jesus Christ; and the poke that I was carrying was whatever candy or potato chip bag that our family had been snacking out of during the trip to grandma's house.  As kids, we didn't get these kinds of treats often, so we were unwilling to cast them aside just because we had reached our destination; so the bag would come with us into the house while we all "commenced-a-visitin'."

Obviously, Grandma's observation was merely intended to be humorous; but looking back, it was also strangely insightful.  I was the next-to-the-youngest of us girls, but I did always seem to be the one who took charge of the snack bag.  I would sit in the middle of the back seat holding the bag while the other girls took turns reaching over each other for their next helping.  Every now and then we would hand some up to Mom and Dad so we could all enjoy the treats; but my status as the holder-of-the-bag brought to me the most convenient access as well as an extra potato chip here and there.

There was no real reason why one of my sisters couldn't have controlled the "poke," so the fact that it was I who enjoyed that perk tells me that it was I who was consistently the most determined.  It's funny how a child's actions in such a minor event can reveal so much about his or her future character.  I say this because some thirty years later--although maturity has taught me a great deal about courtesy and just plain "backing off"--I believe my sisters would say that out of all of us, I still tend to have the most definite opinions, crave the most attention, and in general take a giant step forward whenever control is up for grabs.

This is not to say that my sisters and I have resentment-laden relationships.  Oh, we pulled each other's hair and had a few scratch fights now and then, but those episodes usually ended with us laughing at ourselves and comparing wounds.  Actually, some people have thought that we were--and still are--abnormally close; but I truly feel sorry for any woman who hasn't known the security of a built-in best friend--of which I have three.

My sisters and I have often theorized that, as children, we had no choice but to work and play well together.  During most of our early childhood we lived several miles from town without the benefits of a telephone, television, or close neighboring children; so we had to depend upon our own resources and the home team for entertainment.  Whether we were making snow angels in our large front yard; using the front porch window as our pretend restaurant drive-through; or sneaking past our sleeping mother and clasping hands "Red Rover-style" while wading as far as we dared into the backyard pond, we did it together.

We were adolescents during the 70's--the time of Donnie and Marie Osmond, the Partridge Family, the singing Brady Kids and the Jackson Five.  Our family had no extra money for the choice amusements, so we girls learned to entertain ourselves and others with our own musical quartet.  In addition to the songs we learned in Sunday School, my oldest sister wrote a few of our own, which we performed for our foot-tapping relatives.  We had a few dreams of using our four-part harmony to go from rags to riches, but deep down I think we all believed that sort of success was something that happened to other people--not us.  Besides, dreams like that were "vanity and vexation of spirit;" so we were satisfied by singing together behind the church pulpit, on a rented stage at one of the blue-grass music fests hosted by our mom's family, or in the back seat of the family car.

Whenever I think of that time period in our lives, my mind's eye inevitably falls on four young girls of stair-stepped heights seated shoulder-to-shoulder in the back seat of some salvage yard patchwork car pieced together by our father.  I think it is because that was the time and place where we all seemed the closest and the most like a family--a team with a common objective.  I remember countless rides with four sets of boney knees bouncing in time to our gleeful harmonizing intermingled with girlish gossip and the occasional store-bought treats.

Whenever the sining grew tiresome and the "poke" was empty, my sisters and I would lean on each other like four flicked-over dominoes and succomb to the gentle jostling and the purring motor.  Finding stability and security in each other's warmth, we were oblivious for a time to the outside world.  None of us seems to remember the formal establishment of the protocol; but every now and again, when the bottom domino got tired of the hardness of the car door and the weight of three sisters, a word would be whispered into the darkness accompanied by a gentle nudge.  "Switch," that domino would say; and with the precision that comes from years of experience, all four of us would rise in one fluid motion and lean in the opposite direction.

(The main body of this story has been omitted here as it is a rather lengthy description of the main conflicts that I and each of my sisters have overcome in our lives and how we have depended upon each other for strength and encouragement over the years.  The story ends with these next paragraphs)

Some people tell me, when they hear about our childhood, that it makes them sad and also amazed that we girls "turned out" as well as we did.  I tell them that by far, my sisters and I remember our childhood as a happy time because tears and fears pass away once the troubles are over.  As for "turning out well," I see it as proof that it is not financial or social contributions that are the most important to a child.  Our parents couldn't take us to the movies, amusement parks, or fast food restaurants; We didn't get the toys and new clothes that we knew other children got; And, lacking it themselves, they couldn't instill in us strong self-confidence or social-interaction skills.  But they taught us to fear God and have good morals, basic manners, and a strong work ethic.  They never insulted, ignored, or abused us.  We could venture into the world and begin to grow and learn from it because we knew that when we went home, we would be loved and protected by our parents and by each other.

My parents divorced when we girls were grown; and we all stand by that decision.  The details are not important here.  I'll just say that it finally became evident that the "edge" was never going to completely wear off; and it was better for all of us that the day-to-day lives of our parents not depend upon each other anymore.

My dad's epilepsy turned out to be a brain tumor.  Who knew?  He hadn't had a seizure in many years, so when it happened again recently, the new doctors discovered the tumor and recommended surgery.  My dad doesn't have a lot of confidence in doctors and, therefore, has decided that since he's lived with it this long, he'll just die with it.  What's giving him the most trouble is the newly developed diabetes.  He now lives with my oldest sister, Georgie, but pretty much takes care of himself.

My mother has been in a rest home for several months now because she has come to need more physical supervision than any of us girls can adequately provide.  She can come out for visits, and we all go to see her as much as we can.  I do her laundry and am health care power-of-attorney; Georgie pays her bills and shops for her; Mary buys and does whatever else is needed; and Sally phones from Texas and puts her little girls on the phone to make their grandmother smile.

Last Sunday was Mother's Day so, with the exception of Sally, we all got together at Georgie's house for dinner and reminiscing.  Both having remarried and then outlived a second spouse, Dad and Mom have not been a couple in over twenty years.  Any thoughts about them remarrying would be inadvisable; but as they sat in adjacent recliners and talked about their similar ailments and the deaths of common acquaintances, it felt completely natural.  The past is long over, and we all seem to have let it go.

We have the future to deal with now; but the beauty of having three built-in best friends is that none of us has to face it alone.  Our lives and our problems are very different from those we experienced as children; but we can still lean on each other for the security and stability that we knew as sleeping dominoes.  And if one of us ever feels that our burden is getting too heavy, we know that all it takes is a gentle nudge and a whisper..."Switch."

By Pam Keaton