"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
Mickey never wanted to grow up.
Emotionally, I regarded her as more of a temperamental older sister. My two brothers were a constant source of friction between us whenever she moved back into Mama’s home with us. They broke my things, harassed me, and generally did annoying little boy things to me. I would chase them out of my room, and Mickey would assume that I was being unfair to them. I had a very nice train set. They took the tracks and made swords of them and hit each other with them in the front yard until they broke off the tiny linkages, rendering the train tracks unusable . I tried to stop them and take back my train tracks. Mickey punished me for it.
That was typical.
She loved to go shopping, out for pizza, play games, or take me places.
However, it seemed like I could never be the person she wanted me to be. Her mood could change in the bat of an eye, leaving me confused and hurt.
I could not talk to her about my life and school and my hopes and dreams without being disparaged.
At fourteen, I told her that I would rather give her back everything she had given me over the years and never receive anything again, rather than be treated unfairly. That earned me a smack.
Years later, I discussed my difficulties with her to a therapist I was seeing and he told me it sounded like she had borderline personality disorder.
I spent part of the summer with her between fifth and sixth grades. Frank was a martinet both at home and with the sailors under his command. He and Mickey got into an argument over what she had spent $5.00 on. She took a knife and chased him through the house with it until he fled to his car and left for the day so that she could cool off.
It upset me enough that I phoned home and asked Mama to come get me. Papa drove down to San Diego from Los Angeles, and took me home within hours of my phone call, which angered Mickey. She said I was always tattling on her.