I’ve explained the setup before, but it bears repeating.
From an early age, my sister and I were taught not to hit each other when fighting. We were close enough in years that neither one of us had a major advantage in strength and also we were both sharp enough to tell on the other should the other hit hard enough. My parents believed in spanking children to maintain discipline. That in and of itself was a large motivator not to resort to physical violence. Another factor was prominently displayed spanking spoon, on which a smiley face was drawn. The psychological component of the whole setup still boggles my mind in its inherent audacity and subsequent effectiveness.
Thus, the Smith children had to resort to other outlets to quibble, and words were the best choice.
Some of it was environment, some of it was the interests in books and movies we developed on our own, but my sister and I have long reveled in our verbal exchanges. It’s been a long time since we fought to draw blood, though we’ve put on playful “shows” before others who wanted to see us go back and forth.
In the long-run, I’d say we’re largely tied in the standings. We’re both pretty knowledgeable of current events and pop culture, though we each have unique areas of expertise. My sister, the theatre major, is more likely to reference a play or musical than I am, and likewise, I am more apt to cite a newspaper or novel I’ve recently perused. You can go down the list through movies, books, TV, and other media and will find we largely split the difference.
Granted, if pressed, I’d wager my sister is slightly ahead. When I’m really going, I like to weave complicated metaphors and can get lost in the weaving. At that point, my sister has to but simply call me on the gaps (or the fact I’ve just employed a word that doesn’t technically exist), and she automatically will score a handful of points.
I’ve better appreciated our talks and playful banter since I left for college. I do wish there would be more time for us to go back and forth, though sometimes such opportunities aren’t there.
Nonetheless, we did make some time this weekend, and after the end of a respectable match (where I thought I was slightly ahead, though that could have been me), I mentally noted a couple of details as I fell asleep.
Here is what I came up with, supplemented by some additional musings completed without the hindrance of sleep deprivation:
My sister is slightly more likely to burst into song.
I often deadpan song lyrics when inserting them into conversation.
My sister has a lot of quick stories.
I will tell an extended ten-minute intro story to get to a three-minute one.
My sister will often blink and ask, “How did we get on this subject.”
I can usually keep track of the different divergences and recall how we got to a certain point (ethics – Jiminy Cricket – Rocky Horror Picture Show – The Independence Bowl).
My sister says, “I’ve got to write that down,” if she thinks a comment is especially good.
I will dole out “Three points… aw, why not, five,” when I’m impressed.
My sister is more apt to act out little motions in her storytelling.
I employ more voices to tell my tales.
My sister has a well-developed, sensible approach to problem solving.
The left side of my brain – the logical, source of Socratic contemplations – apparently is where I all my surfer lingo (Meaning I have to edit the “Whoa!” and “Dudes” out when trying to be more serious, totally.
We each like alliteration, applying recently learned vocabulary, and referencing extremely vague materials (“I totally got Danny Kaye in there!”).
We each argue the other is sharp, but my sister is smarter. This isn’t older brother bragging, however. I spent over a decade trying to prove otherwise, but in every test or ranking we’ve both gotten, my sister always scored higher. There was a single exception, but it was my sister who remembered it and reminded me of it in the past year (and even so, it was the difference of a single point).
We’re kind enough to setup punch lines for the other, though I naturally take more dives since I more often engage in foolish behavior.
We each hope to score more points in our battle, but remain content enough to simply watch the other shine that the end result doesn’t matter. At least, I’ve stopped minding. Some of that is maturity, some of that is getting whomped enough, but I hope enough of it is simple brotherly love.
There. I’ve said multiple nice things about my sister without being prodded. I’d better cut things off here to counterbalance the noble goodness with some of black, abysmal humor.
Why did Descartes’ chicken get killed while crossing the road? He didn’t look both ways.
Wait. The stinger is better in Latin: No cogito – Ergo roadkill.
Definitely time for bed.
