bully

We had a great panel at the Harlem Book Fair yesterday. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about just what makes me a Black geek, but I realize I haven’t actually thought much about bullying. I wasn’t one of the cool kids in school, but I was always respected—or I felt that way, at least—because I was smart, and opinionated, and when I talked in class, people listened to me. It wasn’t that way at home, however, and I realized on Friday as I prepared for the next day’s panel that the only bully I ever had to deal with as a teen was my older sister. We aren’t close; I haven’t really spoken to any of my four siblings in a meaningful way since my father died in 2004. Recently, however, I learned that my older sister was having some health issues and so I sent a brief email to offer support. She responded and we’ve exchanged a few more emails since then. I don’t often admit it, but I miss having my siblings in my life. I’m blessed to have close women friends who function as sisters, but there’s still a gaping hole where my blood relatives should be. Now that I’m middle-aged it’s easier for me to think about why my big sister was so terrible when we were teens. She paved the way for me in many ways; she was an outstanding student and so I was also expected to be academically gifted—something that didn’t happen when I attended school without her. It wasn’t always easy living in her shadow but I can see now that it probably also wasn’t easy for her to have no footsteps to follow. She had to blaze her own trail and maybe, at our overwhelmingly white, middle-class high school, that was too great a burden to bear. Maybe—despite appearing to be a total diva—she was teased and so turned around and teased me. Of course, I’m more sensitive than most of my siblings (or so I like to think), so maybe my sister said and did things without understanding the lasting impact her words would have on me. Maybe she had issues with the fact that I looked “more Black” than she did; maybe calling me “cow lips” was a way of rejecting her own thin lips. I don’t know. Whenever I go shopping, I hear my sister’s voice in my ear, chiding me for choosing items that are plain or baggy. I think my disinterest in fashion embarrassed her, but maybe she felt I was judging her for being so deeply invested in appearances (and maybe I was). Lately when I look at photos of myself, I see that I resemble my big sister. We don’t look alike, really, but sometimes I see uncertainty in my face or I assume an awkward pose and then I see traces of my sister—even though she always looks polished and strikes the most confident pose. Family is complicated! This photo was taken at my little brother’s graduation in 2008.

I have a lot of work to do today. My illustrator in Texas, Paul Melecky, finished the pictures for The Magic Mirror, so I need to edit the text and forward everything to my book designer. She’s already resizing Max Loves Muñecas! since a couple of librarians and educators asked for a thicker book that could be more easily shelved (title on spine). Work is progressing on The Girl Who Swallowed the Sun and I’m going to get my illustrator started on Billie’s Blues. And that will be IT for illustrated books, I think. At least for a little while. I need to write. Seriously. Let the day of silence begin…