So, I don’t know about you other Y generation children but both of my parents have always been hardworking individuals. I remember before I started kindergarten, all I wanted in the world was to be like my big sister and go to school like she did. Rown often worked the day shift or swing shift as an electrician wiring new buildings all around Arizona state. Genevieve worked for AT&T when they still sold home phone service. She worked the night shift for years, just so she could wake up and take Ophelia to school and still have time to play with me before my dad got home and she had to go answer to the man.Truthfully, I wasn’t that cognizant of much else but myself at the time seeing that I was only 5 or 6 years old. I wasn't aware of the sacrifices that were made to keep our house running.

Genevieve was always working overtime, I remember she'd get up and cook dinner super early to make sure Rowen didn’t have too much to do when he brought us home from daycare or after school programs. I also remember Genevieve working overtime on holidays, she'd wake up early and put the turkey or ham in the oven for Easter, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. She'd also make all of the things that needed to be refrigerated then go to work, then she'd come home on her lunch break to eat dinner with us and head stragith back to work. Genevieve did this almost every year even though we weren’t hurting for money by any means; she just wanted to stay ahead of the curve. A skill that she passed along to both of her children.

Rowen did a lot of physical labor as an electrician and I know that there were times when the last thing he wanted to do was reheat dinner. Or even to allocate said dinner amongst the chasm of our usually overstocked refrigerator. Something that I can say I often took for granted until I went to college and lived off of one baked potato with cheese and butter on it per day. Sometimes if I was really lucky I could afford to eat bagels and cream cheese, which I am so cheap that I still don’t spring for today. Consequently, due to this general exhaustion from every day living, Rowen would often treat us to McDonald’s. Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure he did this so while we were playing in the playplace, he could casually browse the newspaper, eat a Big Mac and drink some coffee. In hindsight it was probably a smart move because we'd tucker ouselves out running around the play place. That way we didn’t put up a fight when it was time to shower and go to sleep.

We wouldn’t always go to the same McDonald’s, but I remember Ophelia had a crush on a boy who seemed to go to one specific McDonald’s. This boy was little older than Ophelia, who was perhaps 9 years old at the time. I thought it was strange that this boy and his parents always wore the same clothes. They also seemed to have jackets on in the middle of summer, which seemed oddly peculiar. I even recall Rowen would sometimes buying them a meal, if they were around on a day we were there. The adults would sit together and talk about whatever grown-ups talked about while Ophelia, the boy, and I would run amok in the playplace.

I remember that one of those days Genevieve was off and we brought the van with us instead of my Rowens pick up truck. At the end of our romp in the playplace we all hopped into the van, Genevieve, Rowen, the boy, his parents, Ophelia and I. We dropped them off at a seedy hotel in one of the worse parts of town. My dad rolled down his window and I saw him exchange money with the boys’ father. I couldn’t figure out what was going on but once they were out of the van I asked about the strange predicament this nice family seemed to be in. As a 5 or 6 year old, I only spoke in blunt certainies,

“Why do you always give those people money? Why did we give them a ride?”

The real question that I should have been asking was, “Where do these people live?”

My mom tried to explain what it means to be homeless to me but it was hard to comprehend. This prompted my dad to drive us to Phoenix to see their version of “tent city” where are all of the homeless men, women, and children gather for warmth under the overpasses. For the first time in my life as my dad lectured me about how lucky I was, I felt sincerely guilty for having a home, warm food to eat and a family that loved me.

I don’t recall seeing that boy or his family ever again. I like to believe they were able to get back on their feet and stay out of Arizona’s harsh summers and cold winter weather; the desert is an unforgiving place. It wasn’t until I was much older that I appreciated the amount of generosity that it took for Rowen and Genevieve to help people they didn't owe anything in the world to. This is honestly one of the best life lessons that my family imparted to me by treating others, as they would wish to be treated themselves.

However, McDonald’s was also a place of frustration for Genevieve. As I mentioned earlier, Genevieve was beyond studious and would prepare dinners for us in the morning. Sometimes these dinners were elaborate for instance, one Friday night we went to McDonald’s because my dad couldn't find the meal she'd made for us that morning. The meal was barbequed chicken, which is no easy task to be making at three or four in the morning. The next day while she was cleaning out the refrigerator she found it and was so mad at my father for taking us to McDonald’s, instead of eating the chicken. Rowen tried to appease her with his logic,

“It’s fine, we can just eat the chicken tonight.”

However, Genevie's rage much like my own would not be stifled by logic.

“Why do I even bother? You just waste the money we make eating out when I make perfectly good dinners here.”

Then Rowen made a fatal and most grievous of errors by saying with a tone of arrogance his voice,

“None of us were in the mood for barbequed chicken, dear!”

I watched as the foundations of Genevieve’s rock solid demeanor began to crack into a million little pieces. Her mouth turned down as if she were the saddest or angriest bullfrog you've ever seen. Then she gritted her teeth and lobbed the full platter of barbequed chicken across the kitchen and into the other room directly where my father stood. She tossed the platter of chicken with the grace of a discus thrower in a track regionals competition. The platter spun through the air until it hit the wall where my father had been standing moments before, and shattered into hundreds of pieces onto the dining room floor below.

This type of behavior was a rarity in our house, as our parents mostly bitched, argued, or grumbled at each other. While it did happen, it wasn't often that we came to blows or threw things at one another. As a result, Rowen was incredulous that Genevieve would dare to throw something at him. So he proceeded to dig himself a deeper hole.

“God dammit, Genevieve! There you go breaking dishes! It’s not like they grow on trees! And now I suppose I’ll be one who has to clean this up!” he exclaimed, walking away from the broken pile of dishes and now ruined barbequed chicken, because let's be honest, he had no intentions of cleaning this mess; he simply said these things for effect. After this incident we took a small break from going to McDonald’s.

As you can see, McDonald’s was versatile in the emotions it could conjure. So far we have seen guilt, compassion, pity, frustration, and outright rage. However, I'm afraid that McDonald’s was also able to strike fear in our hearts, disgust us and maim us as well. One of the very last times that we were at McDonald’s I maimed Ophelia and probably scarred her for life.

Ophelia didn't see very well, so at the age of 11 she was forced to wear coke bottle glasses. I think she'd just gotten them and as her optometrist had put it rather bluntly “Where you (he gestured to my parents) see a building she sees a large fuzzy dinosaur.” Ophelia was blind as a bat or a Starnose mole. I say that because iif she were a cartoon character, she'd most certainly be an adorable little brown mole. She'd wear overalls, a hard hat, and thick coke bottle glasses that make her eyes look gigantic to the audience. In fact, if she were a DJ her, name would be DJ Starnose mole but that is a story for another day. Anyways, glasses have come a long way since then and they don’t have to be as thick but as a child of the 90’s she definitely looked ridiculous for a few years. Not only that, glasses were expensive in the 90’s so she was forced to take them off before entering the McDonald’s playplace. Also, just a good rule of thumb becaue she'd already busted several pairs at the time; this is likely what contributed to the events that followed.

At some point during the night in question, I ran out of the playplace to sip some of my drink, which I’m pretty sure was orange soda because I loved that shit, and Rowen told me to go get Ophelia. I called for Ophelia several times and she wasn’t making haste. So, I headed back out to tell our father, who told me to relay the message that and I quote, “He better not have to come in there and get you!” which I yelled with intense glee. There is something strange about getting your siblings in trouble that just feels so good when you’re young.

Eventually, Ophelia comes fumbling out of the playplace and like an idiot she grabs her shoes and doesn’t put them on. I even screamed at her, “Put your shoes on!” She ignores me; she's standing directly behind me with shoes in hand when I open the door from the playplace to lobby and am met with her bloodcurdling scream. Rowen comes running as if he knew the scream had to have come from Ophelia and not some other screaming child; there's blood everywhere! My dad carries Ophelia to the chairs where we were sitting. The staff at McDonalds grab a clean towel for Ophelia to wrap around her foot, which is bleeding profusely, and ice to numb the pain she's feeling.

I sit in the corner, silent as a mouse, feeling absolutely brutish and guilty as charged. It was me officer! I'm the one who ripper her toenail clean off! Yes, that's right, I managed to successfully rip most of Ophelias’ big toe nail off of her toe. I thought she was going to bleed to death and that I, at the age of 9 was the new Cain! I had killed Ophelia with the swipe of a door and my parents were going to murder me, or just disown or excommunicate me, if I was lucky. We sat there for quite some time as Rowen called Genevieve frantically trying to figure out which urgent care our insurance covered. While my Rowen was panic stricken and calling every doctors office that would be open past 8 o’clock at night, the manager brought both Ophelia and I free large ice cream cones. Selfishly, I was pretty pumped to be given free ice cream, but Ophelia was pissed! She kept speaking through gritted teeth,

“I don’t understand why she is getting an ice cream cone! She is the one who ripped off my stupid toe!!!!”

Rowen responded with,

“She’s pale as a ghost and she clearly feels awful!” in an attempt to keep the peace. "Does it matter if she gets an ice cream cone?"

"Well, this IS all her fault!", Ophelia huffed.

Finally, it's decided what we're going to do. Rowen carries Ophelia to the car; I open the door for them, hop inside and he lays Ophelia in the seat next to mine. We drive to the hospital and wait to be seen by the doctor, which takes forever! I'm starting to fall asleep when we're called into the room and I see Ophelias’ toe for the first time. In taking my spot in the hall of fame’s worst sisters ever I didn’t even sever most of the toenail off of her foot. The poor girl still has at least half of her toenail left attached to the skin. You guessed it, the doctor explains that the only option is to rip the rest of the toenail off manually.

Hearing this news makes Ophelia and I start crying immediately. To which Ophelia screams at me,

“Why are you crying? It’s my toenail you destroyed!!!!”

This reaction only makes me cry more because I feel absolutely horrid. I mean, on the one hand Ophelia isn't going to die, and on the other hand, now I have to live with her constantly reminding me what a horrible little sister I am.

Rowen tries to calm her down by telling her that it isn’t all bad because they're going to numb her toe before they rip the offending toenail off. This sounds like a nice compromise, until the doctor brings out the largest needle I've ever seen, pulls back part of her toenail exposing the soft flesh beneath and injects the numbing agent directly into the wound. If I thought the scream that erupted from Ophelias’ lips in McDonald’s was bad, this was a thousand times more deafening. People in China heard that scream.

At this point, I'm still inconsolable with tears streaming down my face, gasping for air because I caused Ophelia the worst pain she has ever felt in her life up until now! Ophelia is just repeating over and over,

“I can’t watch. I can’t watch. I can’t watch.” in between her own sobbing, which vaguely mimics Mary Tyler Moore.

Rowen is holding Ophelias hand; he tells her to just squeeze his hand and look away when the doctor tells her too. However, my punishment is to watch the last of her toenail be ripped off and suffer her pain vicariously through her screamings, sobbings, and gasping for air. Rowen told us the whole way there that we shouldn't worry and everything would be fine. This was about as far away from the land of fine as one could get.

After the deed is done, to try and calm Ophelia down Rowen keeps saying “Don’t worry, it'll grow back!” like a song that is played on repeat. To punish me further, Rowen and Ophelia agreed to have the doctor save her toenail in a jar. That way I'll be periodically reminded of the horrors we suffered at McDonald’s for the rest of eternity.

While Rowen was right, Ophelia's toenail did eventuallygrow back, I never really recovered from maiming Ophelia. I still feel bad about it today and my sense of guiltlessness never grew back. Consequently, I've continued to impose myself as an older sister figure to my own older sister. I tend to be the voice of reason in her life and the one she comes to for advice. It was this event that made me vow to protect her from harm from herself, others, and myself for the rest of my life. A promise that would shape who I became as an adult, a leader, a daughter, and a wife. A promise that I would unintentionally break time and time again for the rest of my life.