But ...

She pulls the collar of her coat a little closer to keep the cold air off her neck as she crosses the crowded parking lot to the store. The strains of “White Christmas” drift toward her. She grits her teeth, her thoughts as grey as the weeks' old snow mounts. She knows to be careful what to wish for or dream of.

Go sit and play on the floor, little girl. Make room for people.

But …

The toddler learns quickly that when she protests people think she is cranky and probably needs a nap.

'Oma’ndopa' are coming.

It’s said with such enthusiasm she can’t wait for the event. Though she can’t remember who or what an “oma’ndopa” is. Then the door opens, and Daddy shows two very old people in. She toddles toward them with a cry of excitement because her brothers do.

Why is she wearing pants? Little girls should be wearing pretty little dresses. And why is her hair so short? It’s just not flattering on her.

But …

She climbs the stairs by herself. Drags the chair in front of the sink like she does every night when she brushes her teeth. But since the mirror is too high, she goes to mamma’s room to look in the long mirror.

What does flattering means. Is it flat like a pancake? Is she supposed to be flat? How would longer hair make her flatter? Daddy shoos her out of mamma’s room when he brings the crib. The one she slept in up until just a few weeks ago.

Go play with your dolls while I set up the crib.

Who is the crib for? Are we getting a new baby? Won’t I be the youngest anymore?

No, Aunt Frannie is coming. She will sleep in your bed.

My bed? Then where will I sleep?

Here in the crib.

But …

She is so proud of her big girl bed, especially when daddy called her a big girl just a few weeks ago. She remembers it well. Daddy made her promise now that she is a big girl she needs to pee-pee before bed, not after she has been tucked in. And she does. Even then, when she wakes up and needs to pee-pee, she climbs out of her big girl bed at night and tip toes to the toilet. She hasn’t pee-peed in the pretty new bed. Really! She hasn’t.

But she gets tucked into the crib at bedtime anyway. The crib that is high off the ground and has side rails. Now she can’t climb out of bed and go to the toilet by herself. And when she wakes up because daddy snores and one of the “oma’ndopa” snores in the other room, and she is a bit scared because her night light is gone, she whispers for mama. Mama sounds cross when she wakes up.

No! Don’t touch that. You can’t build a tower with your brother’s blocks. Go play with your doll.

But…

No. you can’t rough house with your brothers. You’ll get hurt. Go play with your doll.

But …

No. You can’t play football or ride your bike further than the end of the street. Go play with your dolls.

But …

She thinks dolls are creepy. They just sit there, don’t do anything, and don’t look at her. They smile as if they know something. They are stiff and hard and don’t give hugs. But when she says that, grown-ups look at her as if she is strange, weird and they don't believe her.

What’s wrong with you. Girls play with dolls.

But …

Each year, as she gets older, she makes room for someone at Christmas. She knows to sit on the floor so a person can have a chair. She gives up her bed to an aunt or uncle and sleeps on a cot in someone’s room. She and her youngest brother eat Christmas dinner in the kitchen because there aren’t enough chairs in the dining room. She’s learned to smile when she gets more dolls while her brothers get interesting toys. Ones they’re not playing with till she reaches for them.

They let her watch while they build mountains and cities for their train set. But she can only go down there to a jar of jam for mama.

Don’t linger, don’t touch the miniature country.

She wants to know what they are laughing about, but mama says that’s not for girls to know. She wants to know how power tools work, but mama says she’ll break them or hurt herself. Mama says not to read that book. Not to see that movie, not to speak with boys, not to go out after dark.

But …

Her brothers are away in college and have jobs. Mama is so excited about the holidays; everyone will be home again at the same time. Finally, when everyone is home Daddy puts the paper aside.

Sister, you shush now. Let your brothers talk. You’ll get your chance. Go help your mother in the kitchen.

But …

Does she see a look on her brothers’ faces. Is it embarrassment, or pity, or scorn? And again, she looks in the mirror and wonders what’s wrong with her. Who is she? Is she not smart enough? Not funny enough? Not friendly enough? Not grown-up enough? When will she be? How would that feel, to be grown up?

At last, she is, she is living on her own, earning money in a job, one she studied for. She worked hard to fill those gaps, the movies that her mother thought were not right, the books her mother thought were too racy. She met boys and learned what it feels like to be hugged and kissed.

And each year Christmas comes around.

You don’t come home enough. Come for Christmas, girl. Your brothers will be here too. We’re looking forward to having everybody at home.

She’s peeling potatoes and getting scolded for not peeling them thin enough while her father and brothers discuss the world and their jobs. At dinner she chimes in on a political issue and gets amused glances before the topic is changed.

But … She blinks, grips her fork a little tighter before sighing. Maybe they are right. Maybe there is something wrong with her.

At the entrance to the store, she lowers the collar of her coat, shakes off her memories with the snowflakes. She buys oranges, frozen dinners for one and splurges on a bottle of wine while she composes a generic email to her brothers to which she doesn't expect an answer.

“I hope you and your family have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year.

Your sister.”