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Throwback Thursday: The No-Neck Edition

Throwback Thursday: The No-Neck Edition

The Best of Amy 1

August 7, 2014

There are four and a half years between both my older sister and myself and my younger sister and myself.  My older sister, Amy, took full advantage of that age difference (and I’m sure my younger sister will say the same of me).  It’s really unfair because as kids four years is like the difference between Einstein and a kumquat as far as intelligence goes.   You’ll notice two things about this picture, I have no neck (and no discernible neck would be photographed the first seven years of my life) and eyes slant when I laugh or smile.

From as early as I can remember Amy, told me I was adopted and really Chinese.  No matter how unrealistic it is from an adult perspective looking back- at the time I believed her.  She was very convincing and had really good answers and back stories.   If I’d act up she’d tease/torment me with, “If you’re not good I’ll tell my Mom and we’ll send you back to your real family in China.”

She’d regale me with stories about how I came over on a boat and only ate fortune cookies to survive*.   Never mind that I look exactly like my dad right down to the shape and color of his eyes (I was slow on the genetic uptake game). I’d threaten to go ask her Mom to tell me the truth.  She was good.  “You can’t ask my Mom she signed papers that said she could never tell you the truth.”  Her nickname for me was “The No-Neck Chinaman*” and when we’d see Asian people out (which wasn’t all that often) she’d whisper that they might actually be my real family.  Pure evil but even as I write this now I have tears streaming down my face laughing at the notion that diabolical and gullible made it through childhood.

To be fare I did tell my little sister we’d sell her to the gypsies.  I don’t know how that started in the 1970’s but it must have been common because I just read about a similar story in a book and we all really thought they’d steal babies.  My little sister couldn’t pronounce it right and she’d say, “Please don’t sell me to the Gippies.” What? I had a great teacher.  Had I known how crazy they were (my frame of reference is the reality show Big Fat Gypsy Weddings), I would have offered myself up to dress like a real life toilet paper doll.

Toilet Paper Doll

*We grew up in the 1970’s in a less than politically correct era please forgive our lack of culture and stereotypes which are in no way meant to demean any culture (we offended them all); and,  I will spare the song she used to sing.

Cher Doll 1970s

And our favorite song-(we’d dance around with tea towels on our heads pretending to be Cher):

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