Siblings. Growing up together, just two years apart. But so very different in character. Do we take that from parents? I’ll let the DNA experts handle that one. One or either of us could be a throw back to some very distant great grandparent. At least in part.
Nevertheless, the differences are there. We are not clones of each other.
My sister is the eternal optimist. Whatever is happening, there is always a bright side to the situation. House burn down? Wow, now you can change all the things you really didn’t like. The bank will cough up! Extreme I know. But I can just imagine her saying that – as a comfort of course.
I on the other hand am a realist. No. I do not call myself a pessimist. A pessimist is someone who always sees the dark side of every situation. I don’t, but I do evaluate every situation “in your face” so to speak so I can judge what my response will be.
A case in point.
Here we are. Two small girls, aged five and seven. Finally leaving Bonegilla Migrant Camp in Victoria, Australia, where we had been for the past nine weeks. The long hazardous boat trip from Europe over, and time enough to start getting used to this strange country with the weird scraggy trees.
Standing outside the Army hut with a small group, waiting for the Army truck to take us to the station at Albury. Of course we didn’t know that. Just that it was a dreadfully cold frosty morning and we were leaving.
While we waited Mamma took us both aside and as we huddled together for warmth, she quietly said that she would not be able to stay with us. Some very nice ladies would meet us at the train station and take us to a home with other children to play with. She had to work very hard to save money for a house, just for us, so we could all be together again. No, we could not go with her.
Finally on the train, I climbed onto Mamma’s lap and cuddled her all the long way to Melbourne.
Weeping quietly and whispering “Now we will say goodbye, now we will say goodbye”.
My older sister on the other hand, sang every Latvian song she could think of, dancing around the cabin, and turning her feet this way and that, to admire the shine of her new shoes, given to her by the Red Cross.
Some four hours later, we arrived. Mamma handed us our small string tied packages of clothes and left us with two ladies. My goodbyes already said, I walked away dry eyed, clasping one of the ladies hands.
My sisters wails could be heard up and down the station as she was also walked away, reality finally striking.
I’m not saying one attitude was better than the other. Just so different.
Must say it does get up my nose when she says “you’re such a pessimist”. No, I am not. I am a realist
To consider a glass is half full is just as realistic as seeing it half empty. The real difference between the two is … one is a happy realism while the other is rather glum.
Except when reality sneaks up on you and smacks you in the face.