The Pectator

Being the youngest of five children I grew up with the notion that the world revolved directly around me.  I don’t think it was just because I was the youngest, although that was certainly a factor.  Another aspect was that when I was born there were a couple of “traumas” involved with my birth which seemed to have an impact particularly on my father.  For instance when I was born I was a breech birth – which of course indicated that I entered the world rear-end first.  (Frankly, I try not to dwell on what that might signify). 

The pleasant breech delivery for my mother resulted with her having a very painful hernia which laid her up for a little while.  At that same time, I was diagnosed with a blood disease which required a blood transfusion and consulting a specialist.  This situation required my father to step up and actually be “involved”.  Previous to this, when my mother had the joy of bringing a new life into the world, my father would be celebrating with his buddies at the local bar.  According to my mother, my father actually “kicked in” in the fatherhood department for the first time (such a shame because he had cleverly managed to sidestep this for the previous 20 years).  Consequently, I had the pleasure of growing up to be “the apple of his eye”, “a little princess”, and was pretty spoiled to say the least.

At the age of three I was faced with an interesting dilemma that momentarily caused me to question if the world truly did revolve around me.  My sister Lisa, who was five, was offered the highly esteemed position of flower girl for my oldest brother Mike’s wedding.  This event caused a major disruption in my universe.  I observed with great shock and indignation the purchase of a white princess dress trimmed in pink, crowned with lace, toile and ribbons, a puffy white hat with a big pink bow, white satin gloves, delicately flowered white socks, and shiny white patten leather shoes; all for my sister Lisa and not ME.  Needless to say, I was simply horrified and was certain the world was about to end.  This could not be happening.  It had to be a nightmare and perhaps I would wake up soon.  However, this was not to be.

I interrogated my mother to find out how to put an end to this atrocity and with the wisdom that only a mother has, she informed me of her neglect to have previously told me of my own highly esteemed position.  Surprisingly enough, mine was actually the most important position in the entire wedding.  I had the vital, crucial, essential, all important job of being “The Spectator”. 

I could breathe again and all was right with my universe.  I too had a special dress, albeit not as fancy because my special dress was the only dress a Spectator could wear.  I too was privileged to have new patten leather shoes, new socks and a new hat. 

Now to my responsibilities with this position – although my mother was somewhat vague with this, I figured it out, I was to inform every visitor at the wedding of my highly esteemed position.  

Therefore with great exuberance on that special day, one by one as the wedding guests entered the church, it was my important task to track them down and let them know the news they had been waiting to hear – I am Janice and I am the Pectator (said as only a three year old could pronounce it).