Aunt Monica

Aunt Monica was a stubborn child. Everything she did was done with determination and perseverance. Unfortunately, her look of determination could be (and often was, by my father) interpreted as a scowl or frown. Thus she got the reputation of being angry a lot of the time.

Both Rita and Marcel's "first, clearest memory" of her was when she would go down the basement (sent by Rita) to get a kitten. Needing all four of her limbs to maneuver the steps the poor chosen kitten would get crushed on each step on the way up. I'm not sure how it got back down, but I can't imagine it was allowed to stay upstairs once my mother got wind of it.

Monica was always a tiny thing and I remember that she had to take a vitamin (possibly iron) every day. It was a little brown round pill and I was jealous of the fuss made over her to take that pill every day, until one day I smelled the pill and after that I was glad it wasn't me that had to take it.

I don't know if that is what motivated me to eat so much, but it wasn't long before I usurped her place in the hand-me-down clothes chain. As I think about it now, I think, "Poor baby, its bad enough to have to wear your big sister's clothes, but your little sister's?"

We used to receive "charity" boxes of clothes from the parish. My mother was a wonderful seamstress and would alter the clothes and sometimes even remake them for us. At one point, there must have been a family in the parish that had twins and donated their clothes to charity because Monica and I had matching outfits. I thought it was wonderful, but Monica was pissed.

I remember that when Papa got home from work and was relaxing with a cold beer before dinner, he would take Monica on his lap and give her sips of beer. It occurs to me now that it might have had something to do with beer being a treatment for anemia. I know for sure, it had nothing to do with him liking her better than me.