The last task of a busy Thanksgiving weekend fell to our bookends. Charlie, 24-years old and soon to leave for his home in New York, and Molly, 13, faced off across the wishbone.
So similar are these two, with their left handedness, stubborn streaks and complete recall of obscure information, that the standoff could have continued indefinitely. They both understood that the surest way to win the wishbone war is to hold still. The tugger is the loser every time.
And so they stood.
Eventually, impatient and anxious to return to her sixth consecutive episode of Lost, Molly sacrificed her wish and yanked.
Charlie scored the wish.
As I snapped pictures of the annual rite, I thought about these two who had been nothing but kind to each other their whole lives.
Shortly after Molly was born, I asked Charlie if he’d hold her for a little while so I could run on our basement treadmill.
“Sure,” he said and settled himself with her in our family room. I ran and then popped upstairs to check on them. She had fallen asleep on his chest.
“Can I take a quick shower?” I asked Charlie.
“Sure, go ahead,” he said.
At some point, I completely forgot about them. I showered, dressed and wandered into the kitchen to start dinner. I was at the stove when I heard the faint voice.
I poked my head in the family room. There sat Charlie, pinned by the sleeping baby.
“Can you take her now because I really have to go to the bathroom?”
It had been more than two hours.
I can’t tell you what Charlie wished for yesterday (true wishers never tell), but I can tell you this: as they both make their way out into this old world, their mother is so very pleased that they have each other.
|11-year old Charlie works around seven-month old Molly.
The stubborn standoff might have continued indefinitely