My Little Sister by Enes Berg Stringam

Mom, third from left, and five of her eight brothers.
Her 'baby sister' Roy, alias Rosie, is far left.

Another selection from my Mom's journals.
This was my Mom's favorite story.

Being the only sister near the middle in a family of eight brothers, I found myself competing with the boys and growing up as a 'Tom Boy'.

I was athletic and could run as fast, jump as high and throw as far as my brothers.

I milked cows, drove and rode horses as well as the boys.

As the fourth in the family, I often considered myself the fourth brother.

In spite of this, I yearned for a sister, sharing my mother's yearning for another daughter.

By the time I was five, I had three new, small brothers but still no sister.

My prayers unanswered, I seemed destined to be alone in a mob of boys.

My little brothers seemed more cooperative and trusting than my older brothers; maybe little brothers could substitute as sisters? I decided to try to make one my little brothers into a little sister. Perhaps if I dressed them up in girls' clothes, they would pass as sisters. I rummaged through Mama's trunk and found an old dress and a bonnet with lace trimming.

Armed with these frillies, I looked about for a likely prospect.

Roy, the fifth brother and three years my junior, seemed the best choice. I approached him where he was playing in the yard.

"Roy, come and see what I have here."

He came willingly after I promised him a cookie.

We went upstairs where I slipped him into the dress, tied the belt and put on the lace bonnet, all the time crooning how nice he looked - so very nice. I gave the dress a tug to cover grubby clothes and ankle-height shoes.

I called my new little sister Rosie, my favorite name at the time.

For a while we played games that I supposed girls would play. We played with dolls and improvised a tea party including the promised cookie.

We were having such a good time, just us girls.

It was wonderful having a beautiful little sister.

Finally, I thought and I and my little sister should go for a walk to see the cats and the farm animals which would be frolicking about outside.

I took Rosie by the hand and for several blissful minutes, I led her around the yard, describing all the interesting features of our farmyard and garden.

Luckily, we did not encounter any brothers with their taunting giggles and snorts.

Suddenly a car came into the yard.

 The spell was broken. Rosie, reverting to Roy, leapt into the air and shot like a rocket toward the house.

As the passengers poured out of the car, they were surprised to see what looked like a human tornado, shedding clothes as it sped to the nearest hideaway.