Working For The Voiceless

 Excerpt  :

Our home always came alive during the holidays because my four brothers and I often jostled unnecessarily for identity and space since there was often no clear or definite reason for it. As the fourth child and the only female, I usually felt that my siblings believed they had a duty to make me comfortable. Often their protectiveness made me feel special but that feeling was always short-lived as one or two of them would smack me for one flimsy reason or another and threaten me not to report to our parents. So sometimes I would sulk, in sorrow at my inability to retaliate or to report the infraction to mummy whose usual support always soothed my bruised ego. As children, none of us took these things to heart because the next minute we would be seen playing together. “But why am I recalling these anecdotes so clearly?” I ask myself as I look back at that infantile scenario of over fifty something years ago.

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