I’m Ted’s sister Anne, born 11 months before he was.
When I was old enough to know better, I traded all my nickels for all Ted’s dimes. Mum made me give them back.
When the family went sledding in Bedford one night, Ted’s leg went under the toboggan and it turned purple. He was only 6 but never complained, which shocked Mum.
When Ted, in his cowboy duds and sheriff’s badge, shot off his cap pistols and kicked over my mud pies that were baking in the sun on a 2x4, I bopped him in the head with the board. This is Ted’s favourite story about me. He told it to all his kids and always showed off the scar on his forehead as proof he was telling the truth. He would grin and say, “I thought Anne’s bakery was a saloon.”
When we were in grade school in Halifax, Ted let Fred and me help him make model planes, battleships and cars. I painted one hotrod Candy Apple Red.
When Jackie came to Canada, she stayed with my husband and me in Ottawa. Jackie hugs me every time she remembers how I helped her immigrate to Canada.
When their wedding day arrived, I was the one who fed Jackie TUMS. That settled the butterflies in her stomach.
When his first son was born, Ted asked me to be Mark’s godmother. What a gift for a Big Sis.
When Ted and I meet again, he’ll tell me how much he loves this stream of Internet stories, started by Mark – especially the ones Adriana will tell about T-Pa, when she’s old enough to read and write. She loves stories, too.