Life with my mom, Sue, was complicated from the get-go.
Especially when I began to ask questions as a toddler about my disabled sister, Lisa and her differences. I was a child trying to understand but I was shut down, left and right.
I wrote about the first altercation with Sue, related to Lisa in “Surviving Sue”, p. 18:
Lisa kept picking books up, one at a time, and “read” them upside-down. When a page had a picture or drawing, she knew to turn it over – right side up – but when she was just looking at the words, she would hold the book up any old way and would declare, “I’m reading too.” Did my boastful proclamations that I was reading trigger her to join in? I don’t know, but young children are blunt and honest. I marched toward Sue who was at the sink and asked, “What’s wrong with Lisa? She doesn’t play with me like Jerome does and she holds her books wrong.” I don’t remember Sue’s answer, but I remember the slaps. The first was a shock and the five or so that followed – first on my face and then my butt – were painful – but the bigger issue was that I had no idea what I did wrong. Sent to my room, I sat there for hours until Sonny came home and said, in a monotone, “Lisa’s different and you need to be nice.” He looked upset so I didn’t ask any follow-up questions. That night, Sue acted like everything was A-okay and normal. It wasn’t, but I learned that we skip over stuff and move on. Don’t address it. Look away. I did, but I also filed the events of that afternoon away in my little girl brain.
A few months later, we went on our first-ever vacation to some sort of theme park, circa 1965. I’d forgotten about it entirely until Lisa found some pics as we were rummaging through old photos recently – looking for some of her Special Olympics memorabilia.
When Lisa’s hand touched the photos, she remembered details and threaded the pieces of the story together. It didn’t take long for me to join her, but I needed to disguise my reaction for fear that she’d see the tears in my eyes. For Lisa, the memories were sweet. For me? The photos told a time-lapse story about a revelatory moment with Sue that I’d long forgotten. Suppressed and repressed with intention.
Look at the slide show below. It captures what could have been a joyful ride on a motorized rocket/carousel, but it was anything but. That’s me on the left and Lisa on the right:
I can’t see Lisa; I’m worried she will fall out and it will be my fault. 
Sue says ‘knock it off’ after I create a scene – screaming to get off the ride. Note how Sue “handles me” when Sonny/Dad asks why I’m crying. Her hand on the back of my head…I understood. 
I’m confused. Sue lies and says I’m hungry; snacks will make it better? 
I’m eating, but I see you, behind the camera, Sue. Dubious Vicki is here.
A story told in four vignettes.
For Lisa, the photos held happy memories about the day she had caramel corn at a carnival. Nodding as she recalled the sunny bits, Lisa said, “Dad and Mom were happy that day. They didn’t fight until we got back in the car. Do you remember, Vicki?” I didn’t. I don’t. I’m sure Lisa’s right but all that mattered the day we discovered the photos was that she saw a sweet memory and I managed to shield my truth.
Thank you to my dear friend Melanie McGauran for the inspiration in her recent post, “What Stories Will You Find” about a pic and the wonder that comes when we peer into a time machine, absorbing glimpses of ourselves – our expressions, our body language. Every picture tells a story? Yes, indeed.
And this post – a story told in four vignettes (perhaps five…now that I’ve shared with you)? Thank you so much for coming along.
Vicki 💝
Click here for more posts about my sweet sister Lisa.
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue | Eckhartz Press.
Check out this link to learn more about my book “Surviving Sue” – all about resilience and love.
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Victoria Ponders 
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