Oh how the years fly when you're having fun........

I've forgiven her for being thinner. I've even forgiven her for never having a weight problem. Yes, I know, that took me a little bit longer. But, that's what sisters do--we get over it. Now that we're both sitting here somewhere between our youth and our middle age--those grudges seem quite ridiculous. As do many things that I squandered my time and emotions on over the years. The only thing that I'm having a rough time getting over is the fact that she's younger. I'm still pissed about that.

Yes, I'm talking about my sister--the one I named after my Chatty Cathy doll. I was so hell bent on naming someone Cathy that I hounded my mother for weeks. In her ninth month of pregnancy--no less. Bet she loved me! Of course, that was only after Sister John Joseph refused to allow me to name our class Pegan Baby Cathy. No, it had to be a saint's name she told me. There was no St. Cathy. Yes, but there was a Chatty Cathy doll, I told her--trying to get her to change her mind. I told her I'd pray extra hard for Pegan Baby Cathy. But, she was adamant. Unless I consented to Katherine then it was not to be. Forget it, I'll just name my new sister Cathy, I told her in a huff. What if it's a boy? she asked. But I knew better--we don't have boys at my house. I would have a sister named Cathy. Even though my mother and father had settled on the name Charles or Charlotte (after my paternal grandfather).

And so, on that cold February morning--as I was hanging out with my Aunt Phil and my fun cousin Ronny--the call came. As I expected--my mother had another girl. As I sat at my aunt's little kitchen table eating my Life cereal in my Chatty Cathy pajamas, my lobbying took on a new urgency--begging, pleading and crying....ppppplllllease make my mom name her Cathy. I knew my aunt had power over my mother---Aunt Phil was the older sister. I was already keenly aware what that meant....after all, I had been doing the older sister thing for several years. I was now the supreme older sister--with 2 younger sisters. I knew what power being an older sister held.

Now, I'm still not sure what convinced my parents to name her Cathy. Was it the older sister power my aunt had over my mother? Was it my non-stop chatter about it all? Or, did they come to love the name as much as me? I'll have to ask my father about that one. But, they did relent and named her Cathy Frances. Not Kathleen. Not Katherine. Cathy with a C. Not a K. Chatty Cathy was spelled with a C.

I wasn't too crazy about Cathy when she finally came home to live with us. Everyone oohed and aahed over her, my mother was tired and still not feeling 100% and Denise and I could not be as noisy as we wanted to be. Plus, she cried. Alot. But, we got used to her. And, she looked like one of us--with her blue eyes and light skin. So, we took her in and let her stay. Oh so many years ago....the fun began.


Happy Birthday to my baby sister Cathy!