Exceptional Or ... just being bossy Leadership Skills? by Wendy G

Having a clean and tidy house was important for my mother's generation, maybe more important than five lively children. So after school we played outside. The routine was afternoon tea and outdoor play, then at sunset we had to come inside for homework, baths, dinner, and bed. We walked to the waterfront at weekends, and played around, climbing the mangrove trees, careful not to fall into the water. We could barely swim, so we had to be agile, walking along the low-hanging branches of the mangrove trees, or swinging from branch to branch, or climbing as high as we dared. We preferred it when the tide was out, just in case. Our older brother, aged fourteen, never accompanied us. Why would he want a trail of little girls following him? Just embarrassing. He went off with his mates. So, it was just us four girls, and I was the eldest girl. We were evenly spaced – eleven, nine, seven and five. Yes, at eleven, I was responsible for the safety and well-being of “the girls”. I was the boss, self-declared. Our mother’s rule was that we had to be home before the streetlights came on. We dared not disobey. One particular summer day we were enjoying our freedom and independence at the waterfront, while at home our mother was also enjoying her freedom and independence. She was doubtless busy with the usual things without any of us underfoot. The sun shone brightly, bringing out my freckles, deepening the tan of the other girls; the day continued happily. We jumped barefoot across rocks slippery with seawater, sandals in our grimy hands. We poked around with sticks, looking for little crabs. We played in the adjacent playground, pushed each other on the swings, took turns on the slippery-slide, or swung along the monkey-bars until our hands were blistered and sore. However, the day was rushing to a close – and I suddenly realised we were several kilometres from home. I did not want to be late – the sun was setting, and where we lived, night fell quickly. It was quite a long walk along the waterfront, right around a promontory jutting into the sea, and then several suburban blocks. I knew we would not make it in time. So, I made a decision. I was in charge, after all – I was the boss! The little ones had to do what I said. I was the responsible one, after all. We would go a more direct route; we would climb up and over the steep promontory. That would significantly shorten our homeward trip. We set out quickly, leaping from rock to rock, along the muddy shoreline. Even this was taking longer than expected. As we started to climb, it soon became apparent that the little ones were very tired after a big day. I encouraged them to hurry. The tide had turned and was coming in fast. The sun was very low on the horizon. They tried their best, but the promontory was more difficult terrain than I had thought. Handholds were difficult. They became frightened and started to cry. They wanted to go back and return home the long way. Too late. The water was already over the rocks and getting deeper by the minute. We had to continue. I called out to each one to stay where she was, and I would help them one by one. I was no mountain-goat – until that day. I went from one crying girl to the next helping her to progress a few metres up the rocky slope. If anyone fell, it would be straight into the water, with submerged rocks. I told them not to look down, that I would come back as soon as I had helped the others. I tried not to panic, but it was soon evident that my decision had been a foolish one.  Madly scrambling from one girl to the next, I tried to calm them. “Just a little bit more,” I repeated over and over, trying to encourage them. “Move this foot up. Take hold of that rock with your hand. Other hand! Pull yourself up a bit more. I’ll push you! We’re nearly at the top! Keep going. Good. Now wait here till I come back for you. I’ll go now and help Robby.” Or Lindy. Or Jenny. I am sure I prayed. For their safety, for no one to slip or fall. That we’d get home in time. That I would avoid getting a belting with the strap! Perhaps for forgiveness for my stupidity …. I had no time to think about my stupidity. I finally got each one to the top – a grassy knoll. They all fell down, exhausted, crying and wailing. I was merciless. “Stop all that crying! Enough! You’re safe. I helped you all. Stop all that wailing! We have to hurry!” No time to rest. From there we could run the length of the promontory and then down the grassy slope on the other side back to the shoreline on the other side from the rocks, and then rejoin the main road. Before we resumed our journey, I swore them to secrecy. “Don’t tell Mum! Mum doesn’t need to know about this!” That command was for my own sake. I knew where the belt hung, behind the kitchen door, and I did not want to feel it. “If we hurry, we’ll still be in time!” The poor kids. What a horrid and bossy big sister they had. Yet they did what I asked. We bolted home, our poor tired legs shaking with exhaustion by the time we staggered up the porch steps – just as the streetlights came on. We’d made it. No one told Mum about out adventures that day. I didn’t get the strap. We all had a lot more cuts and scratches than we’d had that morning, but nothing was said, and no questions were asked. We were all happy to have our baths and go to bed that night – exhausted, physically and emotionally. Our parents had a quiet Saturday evening in a nice clean house. But for some reason, that was the last time I took my sisters to the beach. After that little escapade, we just stayed in our back yard, skipping or playing hopscotch, or elastics, or making cubby houses under the trees. I can’t remember if it was my decision or a joint one! To this day, our mother doesn’t know how close she came to losing some or all of her four daughters on that fateful day. Recognized

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