Love is a double-edged sword

RACHEL ATTITUQ QITSUALIK

Nothing in the world cuts your ego down to size quicker than a sibling’s acidic appraisal of your performances — past or present. In our family, love was a double-edged sword. The delivery could fall to the right or left, depending on the bearer. It was hard to tell the difference at times and in the example below, you be the judge as to which way it fell.

Ring…

“Hiya. So you’re writing now?”

“Yea, I’m really enjoying it, how do you like it so far?”

“Ahh, they’re all right.”

“All right?” (Blood pressure rising.)

“Yeah, yeah, they’re okay, I guess.”

“Hey you! (Trying to laugh it off) Do I pick on you guys too much?”

“Naa, I’m used to it by now. Besides we’re better at it anyway.”

“Haa! You’re so funny!”

(Still on the phone — long distance by the way.)

“Remember when you were a teenager and you got so fat, you could stick a bullet in your bellybutton? You’d pretend it was an emerald and then you’d do this crazy belly-dance to no music.”

“I did not, you’re making that up you little…”

“It’s true, (in that annoying voice only younger siblings can register on your nerves) and that’s not the only weird thing you did. Once, we had a whole entire conversation when you were asleep. Your eyes were half open and everything. We thought you were possessed. You were sitting right up and talking to us. Honest.”

“No way you silly iquq.”

“You’re the silly iquq. The only way we knew you were sleeping was you weren’t making any sense. Like we’d ask you something and you would just nod and say something like ‘cook the fish’ then pass out again.”

Our family was weird in that there were nine of us, staggered over a wide age range, who grew up in “shifts”. There were four girls and one guy in the first group, and then three boys and a girl in the next group.

The first five of us went off to boarding school a thousand miles away, literally in another part of the Arctic. We lived partly on the land and as my father used to say “became useful.” For those under my father’s care, this could be a formidable task.

Back in those early settlement days, Father had to travel with missionaries, explorers, RCMP members, (special constables or recruits). All his children assisted in hunting and shared in the daily pressures. Our family maintained a hunting and gathering life-style not only for our immediate needs but for the community’s as well.

The first group will know what it means, to talk about breaking camp, ready and packed in minutes flat. Dogs, tents and all — rain or shine.

My two older brothers of the younger set got the best of training in hunting, surviving and fishing. Perhaps years of practicing with the older ones, helped father get his training down pat. Perhaps it was due to the fact that instead of merely camping, they actually got to practice their skills.

Back to my phone conversation above…

“You know, us younger ones never really got to know you that well. You older ones were always away.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s really too bad. I remember the last time I saw you, you were really just a teenager. How’s your little girl?

“Doing really well. She’s starting to walk now.”

“By the way, what are you doing having kids? You’re just a kid.”

“A kid? A kid? I’m nearly 30-something years old!”

My secret ammunition was that I used to have to change his diapers. But I thought that as an older sister kind of thing and that I should at least leave him with a little dignity.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen I’ll call you again not this coming Sunday but next, okay?

“OK then. I’ll be here.”

“All right, nagligijagit.”

“Uvangattauq, see you later. Take care, big Sis.”

“Take care little Bro, say hi to your family for me.”

“Will do. You too, bye.” Click.

Pijariiqpunga.