My younger sister and I were born nine years apart, but don't let that delude you into thinking an impenetrable gap of time rests between us. On the contrary, a unique bond connects her and me, as strong as any healthy sibling relationship. I love her and respect what she has done in life. However, that being said, I declare war, blog war that is. It’s time for her come-uppins and I’m just the one to give them to her.
Twenty three years ago I had a friend of mine over at my parent’s house. We sat in front of the television playing one game or another. I had recently turned fourteen and perhaps spent less time with my little sister than I had before, with new found interest in friends and girls.
“Shane, push me on my tricycle?” Elisa asked in a way Princess Leah might have at five years old. She blocked half the television screen and I wasn’t about to have it.
“Out of the way, Furp.” I scolded and pushed her to the side. At three-years-old Elisa had had a smurf toy, but couldn’t pronounce the name correctly. It had taken me an hour to realize a ‘Furp’ was actually a smurf.
“I’m not a Smurf.” She drew out the last word, emphasizing her knowledge of its pronunciation.
“Okay, Furp, you’re blocking the T.V.” I pointed out.
“Can’t she go play with her dolls or something?” My friend interjected. He leaned out to the side to get a better look at the game we played.
I groaned. Elisa had golden curls and rosy cheeks, but a strong will of iron lie beneath the cherubic appearance.
“I’ll push you later, Okay?” I tried to pacify her.
She looked me in the eye. “Later?” She asked.
“Later, I promise.”
She skipped off, satisfied by my word, but later came sooner for her than I’d expected. It wasn’t long before she eclipsed Mario jumping through a maze of fireballs. Depressing notes rang from the T.V., indicating the game character had met an unhappy end in a pool of lava. Elisa grinned at the sound.
“Is your game done?” She knew exactly what the sequence of sounds meant.
“Dang it, Shane. I couldn’t see the screen. The Furp was blocking me.”
Elisa turned to my friend as if he were a trespasser on sacred soil. “I’m not a Furp… I mean a Smurf.”
“Whatever, Furp.” He said and threw the controller down.
I ignored Elisa and took the controller. “Ah, that’s too bad.” I mocked my friend’s anguish. “I guess it’s my turn then.”
The game started, but Elisa refused to move.
“It’s later.” She announced. “Tricycle time!”
I continued ignoring her. I’d played the game so many times I could still navigate the course with half the screen obscured.
I said nothing. She waved a hand in front of my face, but I sat like a Buddha on the floor. A hurt look crossed her face as she walked away. I smiled as she went into the kitchen, but little did I know that was just the opening foray of the battle.
A few minutes later she came back into the room and stood in front of the television. I pretended she wasn’t there. She casually held a full cup of water in her hand. She took a small sip from it and exaggeratedly sighed in satisfaction. She looked at me and waited, but I just pressed the buttons with my thumbs, Mario making sounds of warning I didn’t understand. She smiled, pulled the glass back, and through the water into my face.
Mario fell off a cliff and the game ended. I started the game over without a word. Elisa ran giggling back into the kitchen. My friend laughed at my side.
“Aren’t you gonna do something?”
“Naw, she’ll probably leave us alone now.” Drops of water slid prophetically down my face.
Seconds later she came back, loaded for bear. All pretense getting my attention by diplomatic means had evaporated in the heat of ignoring her. The delicate arm holding the glass of water cocked back and threw the cold liquid in my face. Off she went again and I heard the faucet refueling her glass like an ammunition depot.
Ten times she came back, each time dumping the liquid payload over my head, in my lap, down my shirt. By the end I laughed with her, my friend went home shaking his head as he went and I pushed Elisa around the house on her tricycle.
I tell this story because we may grow up. We might mature, but in the end we all act the same. It’s not real water now, no, it is proverbial blog water. It is the water of memory flung into the internet universe. I have sat, ignoring it, somewhat, drenched in the words of Elisa Hirsch.
And now I say it's on, Blog War little girl.
The latest effrontery is about how I told her she was adopted and made her cry when she was eleven. Immediately after that I pointed to an ugly dog on the television and said, “And that’s your mama.” It still makes me chuckle. I actually think it was a cow, but she remembers it being a dog.
For all I really know, Elisa really was adopted. I wasn’t in the delivery room. I didn’t track her progress as she went back and forth from the hospital nursery to my mother’s room. She could have been accidentally switched. So I went on the internet and found someone I think is Elisa’s real biological mom. See for yourself.
Elisa didn’t take too kindly to this website.
To make amends I have continued my search for truth on my sisters behalf and have found the most conclusive evidence of her adoption thus far. See for yourself and let me know what you think.
Elisa's Special Movie