Not to be confused with knave.
Beck wrote a lovely post about her daughters today that reminded me of some more stories of my manipulative tendencies toward my younger brother.
I really did have the perfect brother for manipulating. He was tender-hearted, gullible and naive. He thought I hung the moon until he was about 4. Then there was me: nerves of steel (or at least gold, in which one can leave a mark with one’s teeth), heart of stone and mind chock full of skepticism. I needed to take advantage of his innocence like a redneck needs an old dryer in their front yard.
We, like Beck’s children, had a “special tree” in our neighbor’s backyard. It was a pine, not an old, gnarly, notched deciduous. Norbert kept the branches trimmed up about 3 feet, but they were so long that they hung down to the ground, creating a tee-pee-like space underneath. We would play on the soft brown needles underneath. Our favorite game was “fairies.” I would tell Brother stories about how the fairies arrived (by rocket, of course) and explain to him why he never saw them (even though he would often claim that he did, the pour soul).
I would run out to the tree, Brother trailing behind but running as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him, and say, “Oh, Brother, you just missed them! There went their rocket!” Sweet little boy would look up in the sky, shading his eyes, his lower lip trembling, hoping to catch a glimpse. But it was hopeless. Only I ever got to see the fairies. As he got older and tired of my lies, he would attempt to manipulate me back (that or he was hallucinating). He would run to the tree and say, “Oh, Heidi, you just missed them. Too bad.” And I would say, “Brother, you didn’t really see them.” “Uh HUH,” he would whine. “Yes I DID!” And I would walk off smugly, knowing better, and he would feel ashamed. I was loving like that.
Story #2
I was not the only one who liked to take advantage of Brother’s gullibility. When visiting my aunt here in the Twin Cities, it often RAINED PENNIES. I kid you not. Miraculously enough, it only did this over her driveway. It never rained pennies in my hometown. We (my mom, aunt and myself) would stand in the driveway of her townhome complex and throw pennies in the air. As they would land, Brother would shriek, “Another one, Mommy! Look!” And as he would stoop to pick it up, we would toss another penny some distance away. As he got older and more suspicious, we would wait until planes were overhead and tell him that the planes were dropping them. I remember this scheme working until he was probably 6 or 7 years old. Sorry little chap, wasn’t he? I only feel slightly better about all my manipulations knowing that my mom and aunt, adults, took their own delight in fooling him.
So there you have it. More stories of me being a terrible older sister. Let’s hope, for Anja’s sake, that I have gotten over my need to have fun in such a fashion. 
Come back tomorrow–I may post a photo or two of me and my tow-headed brother. And tomorrow’s a special day.
