In Her Shoes

The evidence of my transgressions lay before me. The drum set that couldn't be played quietly if one tried. A toy cell phone that chirped children's songs in irritating tones. And dozens of blocks, vehicles, and action figures that glowed, twirled, and buzzed.

My sister had these waiting for us when my son, Chet, and I arrived for our visit. She nonchalantly stated that her boys, ages 3 and 10, had outgrown them. "Let's see if Chet likes any. If he does, I'll pack them up for you to take home!"

I prayed that Chet, at 9 months, would set his sights on something more unassuming, like an empty paper-towel roll or the dog's food dish. But no such luck. He took to the toys in much the same way as my nephews had when I gave them as gifts years before. In picking those presents, cost, volume, and difficulty of assembly were no object. After all, I was the aunt. I had only a few days to visit, and spoiling my nephews rotten was my duty. I hadn't thought what it might have meant to my sister. Until now.

Chet squealed as a noisy toy train blinked its lights, and I watched my sister break into a grin. Was that satisfaction I sensed, now that she was finally having her turn?

I can't say I could blame her. It was a long time coming. I already had 10 years of aunthood. As my nephews grew older, we spent our visits hopped up on candy and soda, practicing death-defying feats in the backyard and running around the house like wild heathens. As the fun aunt, I had no allegiance to healthy meals or posted bedtimes. What was the point? After all, we were having too much fun!

Well, except maybe my sister. But at the time, I didn't understand the parent's perspective. And when the sugar high ended, the toys lost their allure, and exhaustion set in, I'd head out for the evening -- or go down for a nap.