Back in the early 1960’s, Tonka was the standard of metal toy trucks that bulldozed their way into every little boy’s home. These same boys dreamed that some sort of miniature shiny, red or yellow truck, that replicated construction vehicles often found on actual building sites, would find its way under their Christmas tree. Having three younger brothers who hoped for trucks and not lumps of coal meant we had an entire fleet motoring around our home Christmas morning. I vividly remember watching the Tonka commercials as a child that claimed their trucks were not only built Tonka tough, but were also indestructible. I can attest to this as true having witnessed them endure dirt mounds, sand storms, winter abandonment to the outdoor elements and even childhood sibling wars. Unlike my dolls, which were subjected to every form of brotherly disfigurement, no amount of retaliation by me could inflict any real damage to their trucks.
Case in point was the year Santa left me the fashion doll, Midge with her trendy hairstyle of the day—the 1960’s Flip. She was Barbie’s best friend and I was sure she was going to be mine, too. Earning the number one spot on my Christmas list that year, I was ecstatic to find her under the tree and looked forward to all the wardrobe changes she and I would create together. But Christmas magic instantly became The Nightmare After Christmas when my brother, Jimbo, becoming bored after disassembling his brand-new airplane into a million pieces decided that Midge would look better with a new haircut. With one fell snip, her Flip suddenly flopped right along with my Christmas morning cheer. I vividly remember wanting to pummel the bejesus out of him but opted for retaliation instead. Instantly, I saw it—the Tonka Truck! With gusto, I jumped up and down on it with an “I am SO going to get even with you” fury. But that sucker never budged. Not a broken axle, smashed windshield or flat tire. Sadly, for me there would be no revenge that day as they really were built Tonka tough. But having three younger brothers and no sidekick sister to even up the sides would only bring new opportunities to learn how to stand my ground in life.
While Paul, the youngest of my 3 brothers and just a toddler, was more often than not just hanging around in his playpen positioned safely and squarely in the center of our family room, Jimbo and Harry were up to their usual chicanery inventing new and creative ways to grate on their older sister’s nerves. When they weren’t wrestling around or calling each other the R-word (because back then it was just an innocuous thing you called your sibling and meant no harm to disabled people) they looked for ways to annoy me. They loved to spy on my girlfriends and I on a regular basis all the while making irritating, girly-voice mocking sounds of us playing which would send my friends and I into a screaming frenzy like a gaggle of mad geese. Another time they beheaded and dismembered two of my dolls then sending them soaring off the front porch landing one flight down onto the concrete driveway. To my advantage, I was older, faster and stronger and retaliation now came in the form of sitting on them and tickling them until they peed their pants or they hollered Mother. But the next few years would tilt the scales as they grew inches above me and Paul added into the mix.
I laugh now to myself as I remember our childhood give and takes and realize our battles were always fought in mischievous fun as we really did love each other and were truly the best of friends. And these little skirmishes really did help us down the long-road as it taught us many lessons about people. Our parents rarely intervened and usually made us take all of our childish drama outside where they didn’t have to listen to it. In the rare cases they felt the need to step in, they seldom took sides and we usually all got punished equally together so we rarely told on each other. At a young age, we were already learning how to problem solve social issues but mostly through the lens of male eyes which put me at a complete disadvantage.
Now, all siblings wrangle from time to time when they are young, but my youthful observation was that boys and girls do it drastically different. Having had only the experience of living with brothers, I was extremely deprived when it came to understanding girls but was quickly brought up to speed watching some of the neighborhood sisterly squabbles take place.
Although I’d always wished for a sister, sometimes I was glad it was just me and the bros. What I learned growing up with all male siblings was that when boys get mad at each other, they have a quick throw down type of wrestling match and then it’s over just like that. Like a fast-moving storm, it blows in quickly, stirs up a lot of wind, rolls out fast and then the sun comes right back out. This was how my brother’s and I rolled when there was a disagreement about whether one of us was questionably tagged out on 2nd base in kickball or if we touched each other while riding in the car on a long trip. You know the line. He’s touching my … arm … leg … foot … just fill in the blank. I can’t tell you how many times this probably put our lives in God’s hands as our dad, while driving up front, swatted backward and blindly across the back seat hoping to make contact with one of us.
Now girls, on the other hand, are a completely different weather pattern. Like a slow-moving hurricane that steadily moves towards the coast, it gradually builds momentum all the while gathering energy by sucking in the
I remember her name as Sue and even now I clearly see in my mind’s eye her large buck teeth as she spoke to me and how her lips never quite closed over them. It’s funny the little details you remember, but the words kind of sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher—all wha, wha, wha and wha, wha, wha. Perhaps it was my mortification and not wanting to really hear it, but the gist of it was Sue thought I was REALLY ugly—ugly as a dog, ugly-- and she decided it was her duty to make sure I was continually made aware of it. So each and every day at 10:30, as a good reminder, I would hear her barking as she walked by my 3rd period classroom door. Day after day I knew when class was almost over, not by the bell, but by the barks. Weeks went by and with the recruitment of her chick clique, it sounded like a pack of hounds walking by the door as they barked and howled in unison. One day, I decided to honestly evaluate myself and really examined my face in the mirror. Yes, indeed, sort of gangly, slightly oily hair, a few zits and loads of freckles. But I didn’t appear anymore hound-like than most of my other 7th grade friends and decided it had to stop.
At a disadvantage because I had no idea what to do and clearly wanting to thump the daylights out of her like my brother’s taught me, I decided to do nothing. I knew by this age that girls didn’t act like tomboys any longer and decided to just ignore her. I obviously made the right decision as it eventually just stopped. No worse for the wear but left a little bit smarter, I tucked away the lesson that there would always be a Sue in life and it's important to like that person I see the mirror-- gangly, gawky, zitted and all-- and leave the finger pointers to Karma.
Most of us can relate to similar childhood experiences and have come away a little smarter, wiser and kinder for having lived through humiliation. Unlike today, my generation experienced life with minimal interference from our parents who calmly allowed us to learn through trial and error. We didn’t have therapy or the Internet to help solve our problems and yet we survived. Yes, we had our share of hurt feelings, youthful dramas and the likes, but it was implied we were capable of working things out. And we did. Our parents never really knew the half of it and part of me thinks we were the wiser for it. To them we were just a bunch of squirrely kids and would eventually grow up despite them. And survive we did-- because just like Tonka, we were built Tonka tough!
If only Sue could see you now!! 🥰🥰🥰
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