Smarter than a Sinner, Y'all

               Two of the truths of my childhood: I was always proud of my intellect and my sister, Shontyl, was never a big fan.  Of me or my intellect.  We moved to Burns Flat, Oklahoma, in 1980 and, for the first time, had a neighborhood full of kids our age.  After a rough start, Shontyl created a “We Hate Our Neighbors” Club as she found them to be less than optimal considering we shared the left side of a duplex with them; our houses joined by a garage.  
                In the style of your typical despot, she installed herself as President, Vice President and all remaining officers.  My brother, Thorn, and I serving as her involuntary henchmen.  We were supposed to enact her nefarious schemes to demonstrate the hatred of the neighbors, but that consisted solely of hanging a sign (that said “We Hate Our Neighbors”) that she made me make as my bubble letters were far superior to hers.  My brother and I played with these same neighbors directly underneath the sign, if you were wondering whether our hearts were truly with The Club.

                The one neighbor that Shontyl actually liked was a girl named Angie, who was in my grade at Will Rogers Elementary School, at the bottom of the hill where we lived, in former military base housing.  Like Shontyl, Angie had red hair and exhibited one of Shontyl’s key criterion: thinking Shontyl was amazing.  Because Angie’s Dad was divorced and worked with my Dad, Angie stayed with us on a consistent basis as rig welders had punishing work hours, often working up to 16 hours a day, sometimes six days a week.  Angie fit right in to our family and many people thought she was our sister, which we did little to refute.

                One day in sixth grade, I came home and made the announcement that I had been designated as Gifted and Talented (GT) by the school after having taken an IQ test several weeks prior.  My best friend (Noble), one of our “hated” neighbors (Mickey), his best friend (Jamie), the girl I liked (Jennifer) and someone else I’m forgetting (Joanna, maybe?) were told that we were special and would be traveling several afternoons each week to take classes with the gifted eighth and ninth grade students.  I was thrilled.  My sister, who was in eighth grade, was not.

                When I attended the first class, one of my sister’s best friends (Tina) who was in the class, questioned the teacher about why I was there.  I was appalled.  No one had ever questioned my intellect, at least not to my face.  The teacher told everyone that this was an experiment and that we would just have to get used to being in class with people who weren’t in our same grade.  As most GT kids are people pleasers, Tina and I obeyed the teacher immediately.

                However, right after the class, Tina came up to me and asked how I had gotten into the GT class.  I told her that I had taken an IQ test and had always been a straight-A student.  She then revealed that my sister had told her that I had failed 4^th Grade and was held back and that was why I was in the same grade as my sister Angie even though we weren’t twins.

                Failed?  Failed!  I had never failed anything in my life, not even the Presidential Fitness Tests although I’m sure I barely squeaked by.  I was appalled, aghast, sickened.  I was flummoxed, bewildered, nonplussed. I was myriad other words that GT kids use.  I was also furious that my good academic name had been maligned and by my own sibling, like something out of the War of the Roses.

                At the end of the day, when we were released to go home, I practically flew up the hill, righteous indignation pushing me forward like a strong wind at my back.  I burst into the kitchen and with the level of drama I truly believed was warranted, yelled, “J’Accuse!” and pointed to my sister. 

                My mother, quite naturally, wanted to know why I was mad and when I had learned French.

                I replied, “She (gesturing with my finger until my mother lowered it with her finger) told her friends that I failed 4^th grade and was held back!”

                Turning to my sister, Mother asked, “Why would you do that?”

                “Well, they asked how Angie and Dusty were in the same grade since they weren’t twins.  What was I supposed to say?”

                “You could have told them Angie isn’t your sister.”

                “But I like her.  I should be allowed to pick my siblings.”

                My Mother sighed and said, “Shontyl, we have gone over this so many times.  And just like I told you when you asked if we could return him to the hospital when we brought Dusty home, you don’t get to pick your family.  They are who they are.”

                “I know.  It’s so unfair.  He’s stupid.”

                Aghast, I yelled, “I am NOT stupid!”

                “Yes, you are!”

                My mother interrupted and said, “Shontyl Catherine, your brother is not stupid, and you know it.  You may not like him, but we all know he is smart.  Leave him alone.”

                “Yes!  I’m GIFTED! So there!” and I stuck my tongue out at her, which my Mother corrected with a snap of her fingers. “Tell her she has to tell everyone that I didn’t fail, that I’m not stupid and that I’m GIFTED!  Tell her, Mother!”

                Turning to me Mother said, “Settle down Dustin Terryll. I’m handling this.”  Turning to Shontyl, Mother said, “Who did you tell that your brother failed?”

               “Just a few people.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.  Um, Tina and Rhonda and Tanya and Michelle and everybody in my grade and everybody in Sunday School.  And maybe the lady at the grocery store.”

                I was incredulous.  “What?! And they believed you?”

                "Whatever!”

                My mother said, “Shontyl, you will tell the truth to everyone you told.  You will do it this week and I don’t want to hear another word about you thinking Dusty is stupid.”

                “I still don’t like him.”

                “You don’t have to like him, that’s between you and Jesus, but you can’t tell lies.”

                I yelled, “Yes!  Jesus doesn’t like lies!  Sinner!”

                After dodging both Shontyl’s fist and her foot, with my newly acquired karate skills, I sat for quite some time wondering why she didn’t think I was amazing. 

I’m still at a loss, y’all.