My Story in Lists/Memories I have as a Child

Being only a year and a half apart in age, my sister and I often squabbled when we were younger. Looking back, I marvel at the fact that she put up with me at all. I knew how to play the wounded party which meant I often got my way even when I should’t have.

The tale of the piggy banks is a perfect example of what Eliz had to put up with. My maternal grandparents lived in a little neighborhood in Whittier 15-20 minutes away from where we resided. Many a weekend was spent visiting with them so their neighbors, the Millers, got to know us as well.

Upon return from a trip to Mexico, the Millers brought Eliz and me a beautiful ceramic piggy bank. It was a brightly colored, chunky thing, big enough to house a fortune in change. As fate would have it, I was allowed to carry it from the house to the car and somewhere in between, the bank slipped out of my little hands crashing into a million pieces onto the driveway. 

Tears and accusations flowed. Eliz was not happy...rightly so. A happy occasion quickly soured. 

Some time later, we were at my grandparents house when the Miller’s stopped by with another piggy bank for us. This one, too, was shiny and beautiful. We could not believe our luck. To be given a second chance with such a precious gift was beyond what my four-year old mind could comprehend.

As we prepared to leave my grandparents house, an argument insued between Eliz and  I. wanting a chance at redemption, wanted to carry the new piggy bank to the car. Eliz was equally determined not to give me a chance to smash the poor little pink pig. I used the one weapon in my arsenal to get my way, tears. 

My parents must have taken my side because I remember triumphantly carrying the pig in both of my arms to our car. This time I got all the way to the door of the vehicle before the little pig jumped out of my grasp and went the way of the first, dead on the driveway. Tears and accusations flowed. It was a long, angry car ride home. I was sad that I dropped the pig, angry at Eliz for being angry at me, angry at my parents for giving into me. Eliz was angry at me and angry at my parent. My parents were angry at both of us. 

For a long time afterward, every time we went to our grandparent's house, I would hope against hope that the Miller's would come by with another piggy bank. But that was never to be.