A Yellow Harem-Girl Costume

            As the eldest of seven children, bossing around younger brothers and sisters came with the territory. The seven stair-step Heberts were close-knit, and we usually traveled as one unit, especially if one of us was threatened.

            One afternoon, our youngest brother came home and said a kid had threatened to beat him up.  The four eldest siblings marched down the street, shoulder to shoulder and found that coward, telling him if he messed with one Hebert, he got all of us.

            We were a cohesive unit until it came time for the dinner dishes, and that's when everyone seemed to disappear. About that time, we sisters put on our bossy pants and started issuing marching orders.

            Our brothers usually did what the girls said, mostly to avoid hearing us gripe. But there were times we took advantage of their good natures.

            One year, I had to make a harem-girl costume for a school play. I needed a model about my height to wear the skirt so I could put in the hem, and I spotted my brother, Johnny, watching television.

            I gave him a direct command to get on the kitchen chair and put on the skirt so I could pin it up. I know he did it because I have an old Polaroid picture of my brother reluctantly standing on a wooden chair, wearing a yellow harem-girl skirt.

            We didn't limit our bossing around to our brothers. We included their friends as well. My brother, Jimmy, had two best friends – Ricky and Dickie – yes, that's their names. These three buddies hung out at our house all the time, especially on Saturday mornings.

            Those two would sit on the couch while I cleaned, and no matter how much I yelled at them to get out, they quietly stayed put. I figured they were too stupid to understand what I was saying or they just ignored me because I was, after all, a bossy big sister.

            Years later, Ricky told me they paid my brother to let them stay on the couch because they liked watching me vacuum in my T-shirt and underwear.

            The little creeps.

            As we got older, quite a few "friends" came home with my brothers, but it was really to meet my sisters. And, as turnabout is fair play, some friends came home with us to meet our brothers. That arrangement has worked out quite well as our sisters-in-law were first our friends.

            The happy, however, sometimes came with the sad. After my father passed away, the three sisters decided we'd quietly go to the funeral home and choose Dad's casket. As we were getting ready to leave, we noticed our four brothers standing by the back door.

            They refused to let us go to the funeral home alone, and so all seven of us chose a casket for my dad, voting on our favorite casket, knowing majority ruled.

            Over the years, we've had squabbles, but we've grown to understand and appreciate the differences that separate us and the similarities that bind us.

            Instead of chasing down bullies, we're watching our children marry and admiring pictures of each others' grandchildren and vacation photos on Facebook.

            Our brothers – Jimmy, Johnny, Joey and Jeff – are wonderful, responsible men and my children and grandchildren absolutely adore their uncles. My sisters and I know our brothers would do anything in the world for our mom, their wives, their children, their pets and their sisters.

            Even if that sisterly request involves climbing up on a rickety kitchen chair and trying on a yellow harem-girl costume.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.