My sister Diane was a huge part of my childhood. In fact, she was the only one who really liked me back then. Neighbourhood kids threw stones and called me names so I didn’t have any boys as pals.
I remember how we were free to walk all over our neighbourhood and even to stores in Fort Saskatchewan. We had no worries about perverts snatching children off the street. Neither did Mom need to constantly supervise us. We explored the creek, the golf course, and we even played by the water tower.
Diane also liked to teas me but in a friendly way. One of our play-fight arguments was our birthdays. For a few weeks, she was the same numerical age as I was. It was a running joke with us because I used to deny she was exactly the same age but she’d refute that. It was all in fun and nobody’s feelings were hurt.
Diane also used to brag that she shared her birthday with John Lennon. Nobody famous that I knew of back then had the same birthday as me. Even so, I took vicarious pride in my sister and her birthday.
That idyllic state of affairs came to a sudden end when I was sent 500 miles from my home and family to Jericho Hill School. I was only allowed to visit home at Christmas and summer holidays. I was also allowed to visit my home for Easter three times. Diane was still fond of me, and I of her, but she found new kids to play with.
I still find it odd that Diane has been dead for more than ten years. I assumed we’d live far into our retirement years. God apparently had other plans when my beloved sister died of a rare liver disease. Paraphrasing the line in James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” song, I always thought that I’d see her one more time again.
Diane also was mentioned in all three of my memoirs. The first two are featured on the Bruce Atchison’s books page. How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Virtual Bookworm Publishers until the end of October 2014.