[Editor's note: A short time ago, one of our readers stopped by and requested that the Long Suffering Husband or the children be allowed to turn the tables on me and write a column. I was less than enthusiastic about the idea, because I wasn't sure what they might write, but I was sure it wouldn't be complimentary.
My sister, Foo-Dog, decided to take up the challenge and submitted the following. A quick note about her nom de plume, because people always ask me if she hates it. She loves it. A foo dog is a Chinese guardian spirit, and female foo dogs are protectors of children in particular. If you know her, your mind is now blown with how apt it is.]
There's a lot I could say about my sister. She really and truly is a wonderful, giving, loving person. I swear to you, at this current moment, she is not hovering over me in close proximity with a large blunt object or wielding some type of sharp or explosive deadly weapon.
[Editor's note: I was actually not even in the same state.]
I know that someday, she will most likely be the backbone of the family, so I feel a slight obligation to be nice to her, at least occasionally.
My sister is always in heels, no matter what the season, outdoor conditions or the occasion. Walking through Meadowcroft Village for the American Indian Heritage Festival, trick-or-treating 20 blocks, taking a walking tour of Washington, D.C., with the Girl Scouts, going to Dollywood, building a fort in the forest with the Boy Scouts, a torrential downpour or two feet of snow, that woman is always wearing heels.
This is the only thing about her that is highly impractical. She also almost always wears black and frequently pulls her long, thick, wavy hair up in buns strategically kept in place with whatever pen she is chewing on.
[Editor's note: I don't chew on pens. Just saying.]
Also, her short hand is atrocious and she is probably the only person capable of deciphering it.
There aren't many people in the Ohio Valley I fear beating me to a pulp. She is one of them and I can give you numerous examples as to why that is, but I will try to keep it to a minimum.
[Editor's note: Claptrap. She just won the Toughman Contest's women's division in Wheeling.]
One year, on Easter, I said something to my sister that wasn't to her liking. I can't recall exactly what it was. She was in rare form that day. I believe I sat on her early and she had the nerve to bite me. It was definitely an off day for her, because she and I had also taken a few photos together early. I am the master picture taker extraordinaire and all. When I woke up, all I could recall was she was on top of me shoving a pink marshmallow Peep down my throat.
[Editor's note: Actually, I think I'll plead the fifth on this one. However, I will note that she deserved it. And it was four years ago. And it was a yellow Peep. So she's totally wrong.]
One summer, on a particularly beautiful day, the type of day where the flowers look perfect, the grass looks greener than usual, and the temperature is just right, my sister, her children and my own, and our mother were all sitting in the yard as the kids ran around and played.
I have a habit of pretending like I know how to throw a baseball like an actual pitcher while wildly swinging my arms in a circle and actually chucking apples into outer space. After doing this with the kids, I took a seat in the yard. The kids were being really rambunctious, still running around full throttle chucking apples.
Unexpectedly, while I was sitting calmly and attempting to enjoy the afternoon, I suddenly felt a hard and strong pang on the back of my skull which violently shook my head back and forth.
My sister sat behind me on the porch, cackling like a full-out hyena and rocking back and forth going, "Oh, my! Oh, my that's so funny!"
I said, "What the heck was that all about? That hurt really badly!"
The kids were in full wailing mode at this point, begging her to chuck an apple at my head once again.
[Editor's note: In my defense, I suck at throwing anything. This is why I always am stuck at catcher when we play baseball with the kids. I never in a million years thought I would actually hit her. Being struck by lightning would have been more likely.]
Perhaps that was my karma for committing a similar act against our brother as a teenager in our yard littered with walnut trees. I remember full force delivering a walnut to the back of his head and, when he looked around, puzzled, saying it must have fallen from a tree.
[Editor's note: This is much meaner than what I did. At least I owned up to it. And poor Davy Crockett - he always gets it. It sucks being the youngest.]
From the moment she wakes until about 5 p.m., she almost always has a cup of coffee in hand. If it is an evening in which the Penguins play, she is most likely freely imbibing hard liquor and using colorful language in her tweets. She gets very excited about coffee and hockey.
[Editor's note: This is true. Copy Desk Paul described my hockey tweets as being so violent it checked his computer into the boards. It's not my fault; I just hate 29 out of 30 teams in the league. And when the Pens commit a penalty, it drives me to drink.]
Her children are also very brilliant and well-read, like she is. They have many different and rather complicated areas of expertise.
From the time her daughter, the Saintly Child, was about 2 years old, I knew she was going to be a tree-hugging hippie. She has thrown charity benefits already, loves all animals and is like a mini-mother. She was once quoted as saying she wanted at least 40 children or to have children until it wasn't humanly possible for her to have any more children.
[Editor's note: This is not allowed.]
She is so sweet and loving; it is a real wonder to me that my sister raised her.
The Professor is a character as well. He can give you any random fact about any dinosaur or president that pops into your mind. He also loves video games and is rather loving and sensitive, which makes me question as well how it is he is my sister's child.
[Editor's note: My kids are awesome. Still not sure how they turned out that way.
Maybe Foo-Dog will make a repeat appearance if we ask? We didn't get any stories about her two hellions, the Heathenish and Fatty Lumpkins. Those two deserve a book of their own.]
(Wallace-Minger, The Weirton Daily Times community editor, is a Weirton resident and can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org)