Alms for the Poor and Other Stories from Hawaii

These ones aren't actually mine to tell, but since my sister a) does not have a blog of her own that I know of, and b) probably wouldn't want to share these with the whole world anyway, I figure that gives me license to tell them. And to forward a link to this post, to all the co-workers that are usually cc'd on her joke e mails. Nah, I won't really do that, I'll just challenge her to do it instead. (You're welcome, Chelle; public humiliation may be my duty as your little sister, but since I also consider you to be one of my best friends, I'm sparing you!)

My mom recently mentioned something in an e mail that I had forgotten, and it's just too good a story. My mom is the youngest of six kids, four boys in the middle and two girls to bookend them. Her youngest older brother, Loren Ray, is somewhat ornery. In fact, in my most wicked moments of childhood she would roll her eyes and call me Lorena Rachel, a name I have now passed on to Red. For at least a few years when my sister was small, Uncle Loren and Aunt Cheryl lived in Hawaii. When Chelle (who, BTW, was still "Shelly" at the time) was two years old, Mama and Daddy took her to Hawaii for a visit.

It started at the post office, where my mother would go to mail letters. When the postal clerk would ask where the letters were going, a tiny voice piped up, "Kealakekua, Kona, Hawai'i!" The clerk would peer over the counter to see my Tinkerbell-sized sissy with her golden curls and cherubic blue eyes...

Shelly was quite the prodigy, and quite the patriot. On the way to Kona, she led the entire plane in a recital of the Pledge of Allegiance. Her idea, so I guess that makes her a self-starter too. Of course, she also announced to the entire plane when Mommy needed to go potty.

I'm not sure of the order of the next two stories, so I'll just tell them. One is that my Uncle Loren, in his infinite no-kid-having-at-the-time wisdom, secretly trained my sister to say, "My Daddy eats fish heads and spider legs!" Our Daddy, mind you, is deathly afraid of spiders, and with good cause. It backfired on Unc, though, when the waitress came to take their order. He urged Shelly to tell the nice lady what her Daddy ate. She smiled angelically and stated, "I don't know what my Daddy eats, but my uncle eats fish heads and spider legs!"

Finally, we come to the literary version of a title track. My sister, as you might have guessed, was terminally cute. Come to think of it, she's still quite lovely, and guys, she's single! Anywho, back to age two and Hawaii, where she apparently saw a little coconut purse she liked, politely asked the sales clerk if she could have it, and was given it immediately. My uncle promptly gave her instructions, and she was soon wandering around, holding out her little purse and calling out, "Alms for the poor! Alms for the poor!" (Ma says she was making pretty good money, too, until Daddy made her stop.)

So there you go.. a few of my sister's stories, instead of mine, for your reading pleasure today. Rest assured, this will not be the last time I tell Shelly Stories. One little side note: growing up, she was always Shelly at home. In school, she was Michelle, thanks to a mean kindergarten teacher who refused to use nicknames - a trauma for my poor sister, who at age almost-five could already write the name she had always gone by, but didn't know how to spell this new name she was being forced into. But as we grew up, it became obvious that "Shelly" didn't really fit her anyway. I still use it in speech, at times, much like she still addresses me with childhood nicknames ("Moaty" comes to mind, long story and future post), but it has been years, if not decades, since I have written her name as "Shelly." And you know what? It felt really, really weird. I hope you people appreciate the lengths I go to, to maintain accuracy and journalistic integrity.