East Dallas Times

By Bruce Felps

Two score and 10 years ago today, our foremother brought forth on this continent a new baby sister, conceived in … well, eeww, mom, dad, we won’t talk about the conceiving part.

I was about two months shy of turning 4, so I thought I was getting a new puppy or something. Imagine my disappointment when I got a baby sister.

But today’s a milestone birthday for her, and I couldn’t let it pass without waxing banal in my inimitable style.

Cats and dogs took notes

Like most brothers and sisters growing up, we spent a fair amount of time trying to make the other’s existence a living hell.  We were pretty good at it, too.

She won’t go near buttermilk to this day because of a slight mistake I made on purpose.

Mom had whipped up her signature hot dogs — yes, those boiled-wienie atrocities topped with bland American cheese and canned chili — and asked me to call my sister to dinner. While doing so, I asked her what she wanted to drink, what with being the good brother and all who was ready to have her beverage of choice awating.

She said Coke, which in Texas means whatever kind of soda one might have in the fridge, but I said, “No, you don’t want Coke with a chili dog. You want milk.”

Being the trusting little sister, the dumbass, she trusted big brother’s suggestion not knowing he secretly substituted buttermilk for regular homogenized.

Nasty combination.

She exacted her revenge though. Back in the day, the family took car-vacations to visit relatives, usually in the summer when mom and dad would leave us for two weeks at, say, our paternal grandfather’s house just outside Baton Rouge.

The  two-tone back seat had a dividing stripe, which served as the demilitarized zone. She kept to her side, and I kept crossing the divide to torment her.

She whined and complained to dad — the little crybaby — who passed on the pat parental response of, “Don’t make me stop this car,” and instead went with, “Well, hit him in the mouth.”

Ah, “no way,” I thought just before blacking out from a swift kick to the mandibles.

Monkey do, sister don’t

Gotta hand it to her, though. With the advantageous vantage point of being four years younger — and until she was about 20 she never could understand why she’s younger when her birthday occurs two months before mine, the little math genius — she keenly observed my teenage missteps, kinda like Jane Goodall in the mist, while trying to pull a fast one or two on the parents, and she avoided making the same mistakes, like, oh, coming face-to-face with the P’s in the driveway when I was taking out the trash from the previous night’s forbidden party and they came home a day early from dad’s convention.

Um, gulp.

I somewhat felt sorry for her and somewhat felt proud of my high school legacy when she started classes at the ground I’d just scorched. On the first day of classes, teacher after teacher called attendance roll, and they’d get to her. She’d respond, and teacher after teacher would ask, “Is Bruce Felps [pause to spit on the ground] your brother?”

It didn’t take long for her to deny me three times. Oops, hehe, there’s that pesky little messianic complex again. Sorry.

Here’s appreciating you, kid

Anyway, I harbor the utmost respect for my little sister. She kicked cancer’s ass when she was all of — what? —  16; she endured a 10-year relationship with a guy who turned out to be an abject jerk — yeah, I’m looking at you, Kenneth — and emerged on the other side as a satisfied, confident young woman who’s still close to the jerk’s family; and she has some of the best longtime friends in the world anyone could ask for — Tammy, Scott, Kristy, Trent, Lora.

Oh, quick story about Lora. At our mom’s memorial gathering, during which copious amounts of libations were imbibed, Lora gave me her cell phone number, which I dutifully logged into my phone. As I recorded the number and to whom it belongs, she spelled her name for me because it’s not your typical spelling of “Lora.” I showed her the screen to ask if I’d correctly entered everything, and she got all teary-eyed.

“You spelled my name right,” she choked. 

“Uh, you just now spelled it for me,” I chuckled.

Yeah, we still share a good laugh over that one. Well, I do.

OK, back to my  sister. I can’t say how proud I am of her. She’s a  beautiful woman and a productive member of society, working at one of the most prestigious commercial real estate companies in Dallas, and she’s just an all-round good human being.

Happy birthday, Kathy. I love you.

Bruce Felps owns and operates East Dallas Times. He probably screws it up a bit, too, but not with a tribute to his sister.