box #23

My story begins on a nice, sunny summer day in the small town of Greenville, Ohio. I was playing in the backyard of our house with my two brothers and little sister. We played all day outside as we usually did, and came in for our snack mid-day. After we had eaten our snack, my mother looked around and noticed that my little sister of two years was not present. We all went back outside looking for her, yelling, "Caaamiiiii where aaaare yoooouu?" She was nowhere to be found. It was then that my mother noticed that the gate that opens up to the front yard had not been closed and she had asked me and my older brother to remember to do before we came into the house. As anyone could imagine, my mother was livid. I can't remember a time in my life past that day when I was yelled at so much and so loudly. I was terrified. I thought my baby sister was gone for good. Just as my mom finished screaming at Ryan and I, there was a knock at the door. A neighbor carrying little Cami. This lady had gone to every house on the street, leaving ours for last because she was sure that the Finches would not have a blonde toddler - the rest of us were very dark haired. That was also the day that I witnessed my mom crying in joy as she never has since.

This story is most often told as a lesson of irresponsibility, or as a way to make fun of my baby sister for being the "oops" child. We joke that we tried to get rid of her that day. My mother does not look back fondly on that day because she surely felt like a horrible mother, losing her child to the street. This story is a reflection on my family's values in that responsibility has always been instilled into each of us four kids as we grew up. We were given more responsibility the older we got, and were rewarded for being able to handle the responsibility well. This story has is changed every time it is told. My mother usually claims that she did not, in fact, yell and us older kids, and when Ryan and I tell the story, we probably exaggerate the yelling and frantic actions of my mother.