Susan and Karen
It was during this time in France, that my little sister, Susan, came into the picture. She was adorable with her blue-blue eyes and curly locks. Everyone loved Susan. She was always happy and so cute and besides, everyone saw her day after day tied up in the front of the apartment building, playing with toys and sometimes bugs. My mother would lean over the balcony and check her out. We joke that she lowered cookies on a string but I can’t be sure that is true. I think its true.
My parents would take her to the pubs in St. Avold and feed her beer. The French aren’t as tied up as we are when it comes to drinking. Besides, she was so cute propped up on the bar table.
Susan did have one disaster. Not to do with drinking but with cigarettes. She was about one and a half years old playing in her play pen just within reach of an ash tray. No she wasn’t smoking! Just imagine a toddler pulling out her morning cigarette! “Think I’ll have a Gitain”. No. The French weren’t that liberated and either were my parents.
After she ate a couple of butts, she passed out and turned blue. A friend of my mom’s rushed the two of them to the hospital at the Base. After they pumped her stomach, she came around.
I adored her. She was my real life doll. All she can remember about me is that I tricked her one time into eating burnt popcorn. Such is life. You do the best you can and when you mess up once, that’s all others remember.
Karen was in my life but mainly to beat me up. She was always mad I arrived in the family. Sometimes she would hit my arm so hard I couldn’t move it. I’d say, “Mom, Karen hit me and I can’t move my arm.” From what I can remember, that was the end of the conversation. Karen was strong and well built and I was a little wisp of a thing.
