The middle name? That’s the one I use, or at least a derivative of my middle name. Sissy is what they call me, always have, always will.
Why do they call me that? Why can’t I stop them, and why don’t I introduce myself to new people with my real first name?
Well, there’s a story to all that. Would you like to hear it? Okay, then let’s get started.
Once upon a time, a young girl who was part of a large family which consisted of six sisters (two older) and two brothers (allowed to get away with anything and never held responsible for anything), the two parents, and three grandparents – and yes, all in the same home. That’s how it used to be.
That young girl spent time hiding from her cruel older sisters who were often tasked with taking care of the babies. They didn’t like it, and rarely bothered with more than threats. The younger sisters were also afraid, and the young girl tried to protect them from the hateful whims of the older sisters.
The younger girls called her their guard-dog, the one who barked at danger and bit the hands of those who inflicted pain. Well, she did. I did. When my older sisters carried a short stick of thin bamboo and threatened to use it (and they did use it on a regular basis), the young girl hissed and snarled and growled at them. When they grabbed her to hold her still to get her whipping, she bit them. Hard.
Blood resulted on more than one occasion. The older sisters backed off, the younger sisters followed the young girl around like a flock of chattering chickens. They also made sure the real dog, named Sissy, kept them company.
Get the story? Yes, my name is the name of the guard dog. I’m Sissy, now and always, and my younger sisters won’t call me anything else. If I meet people and say my real name, it’s funny how often they say things like: ‘Oh, you’re Sissy. Younger sister told me all about you.’
It’s a small world, and I have learned to accept my name, a derivative of my middle name, but also the name of the guardian of the children. However, if I introduce myself as either my first name (not telling), or Sisterna (a long-held family name), would you know me? I wouldn’t answer to either, now.
That’s me – what about you? Tell me your story.
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