King's Daughter's Kitchen

I have those kind of sisters.  All three are the joking kind who, as kids, made goofy faces at me at the dinner table or smacked their foreheads with their palms, wrongly imitating the old tv commercial, “Wow! I coulda had a B.M.! (V8).” I would laugh so hard when my parents weren’t looking that tears would run down my face and give me away. I’d be in trouble for forgetting my manners, especially as the oldest, and I’d be sent to the kitchen corner to stand and find my manners so everyone else could eat in peace. It’s okay. I got my sisters back later with lots of Duck tape and a fast spinning chair. We were mad at each other often, but we would forgive easily and still do.

Fast forward to my freshman year of college. I received a scholarship to become an English and Spanish Teacher in the U.S. Daddy was an Army man, from a whole family of military men and women. His M.O.S. made him a Deuce and a half truck and Howitzer tank mechanic, then stationed in Nuremburg, Germany. My family left with him. I chose to keep my scholarship and stay behind in the dorms. I studied and busily worked in the University Writing Center, saving most of my money.

I didn’t have time to miss my far-away family much until the week before Christmas Break. My dorm began to empty on Monday. I made arrangements to stay with my pastor and his family. Then, I set about finishing my finals.

On Wednesday, we received word that one of our softball players had taken off to drive home after her last exam. On the way, she fell asleep, hit a patch of ice, slammed into a guard rail, and died. She was eighteen, my same age. Nowhere worth going is worth dying to get there. I was so homesick for my sisters, just to hear their laughter. I cried, a lot.

On Thursday, I went down to my mailbox just hoping to get a letter from my mom. Instead, there was a round trip ticket to Nuremburg. I collapsed against the wall of boxes, holding the priceless paper in disbelief. My dorm mom said that she had been holding my ticket for safe keeping and offered to drive me to the airport when the dorm locked at noon the next day. I cancelled with my pastor’s wife, who had known about the trip the whole time. Soon, I was on my way.

On board the plane, in a large paper sack, I carried three porcelain dolls, one for each of the sisters, that I had purchased the day I discovered the ticket. During the whole long flight, I kept picturing their faces and looking at my Swatch watch.

When I finally arrived at the military housing in Nuremburg, I had been awake for nearly forty-eight hours. I hugged everyone as tightly as I could without hugging clean through them. I ate some soup and collapsed on the couch. When I woke up, it was Christmas. I quietly pulled the porcelain dolls from their home in the sack and posed them on the couch as if they were having a hen party (what Daddy called our noisy girl talk). Then, I went to the kitchen for coffee to wait for the first sister to appear.

Not expecting Christmas, as Daddy had spent all the extra on my ticket, one by one each sister sleepily appeared and discovered a doll that looked like her sitting on the couch. I really can’t describe our joy, being together in that space and time. I just know that I will never forget it as long as I live. We laughed, a lot. On that trip as a young person I realized how important my family was/is to me. I’m glad to have had the chance to learn so much about the world, about my sisters, and about myself.