Little Lynne

We called my aunt "Pete." That was her nickname, but her given name was Wilda Lynton shortened to Lynne and we called her namesake, my cousin Lynne, "Little Lynne," as if we really needed to make the distinction. I still think of that cousin as "Little Lynne."

Little Lynne, like my aunt who was a sweet natured soul, seemed to have received not only the name, but her aunt's same sweet traits by osmosis.

During the time we spent together playing, she was often subject to stomach aches that could be directly attributed to my coaxing her to use every opportunity on trips between our houses to stop with me, gather and eat what was being generous to call edible of the unbruised parts of the hard, little crab apples that often fell from an older neighbor lady's, Ms. Henderson's, tree to the ground below it.

My sweet girl cousin had the hardest time refusing me. Since I was, and am, blessed with a stomach of iron, I was never affected by these adventures. She suffered much due to my lack of empathy. I suppose I had persuasive sales skills as well because i was able to convince her of the idea that this time the fruit wasn't going to bother her.

I only remember once in the childhood summers we spent together that she ever got angry and that was because rather than taking an end of the jump rope we had been jumping into together, I attempted to convince her we should tie one end to the mailbox so I could jump by myself. It didn't amount to much of an argument. The reason I can recall it today is because when I left in a huff that day, I returned home to a locked house with the dire need of a bathroom and a stubborn need to not return to her house. Since neither of the two opposing needs were changing or outweighed the other, I had to make use of the woods behind the house--a memorable lesson.

Lynne and I often spent the night at one another's houses. Her overnight visits to our house would often leave her sleep deprived because my family tended to leniency on bedtimes when we were having a sleepover. Staying up and giggling at her house, brought regular blasts from her father sitting in their darkened living-room with the t.v. playing low, of, "You girls quiet down in there and go to sleep!" Our reaction to this would be to speak in whispers and hope that with lowered voices we could get away with a little more conversation. She usually would tire of this first.

Little Lynne, my cousin, provided me one of my first friendships when I still had a lot to learn about friendship's give and take.