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Hi There. Welcome to Screen Actors Guild Foundation BookPALS.
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I'm Melissa Gilbert and I'm the President of Screen Actors Guild,
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but more importantly, I am the mother of Mikey and Dakota and the stepmother of Sam and Lee and one of our favorite things to do is to read.
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So it is going to be my pleasure to read this book, "My Rotten Redheaded Older Brother" by Patricia Polacco. Here we go. . .
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My brother and our mother and I all lived with my grandparents on their farm in Union City, Michigan.
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Now my babushka, my grandmother, knew lots of things. She knew just how to tell a good story.
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She knew how to make ordinary things magical. And she knew how to make the best chocolate cake in Michigan.
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After she told my brother and me a grand tale from her homeland, we'd always ask, "Bubbie, is that true?"
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She'd answer, "Of course is true, but it may not have happened!" Then she'd laugh.
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Now, I knew that she loved me all right, but I couldn't quite understand how she could even like my older brother, Richard.
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He had orange hair that was like wire; he was covered in freckles and looked like a weasel with glasses.
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The one thing that my bubbie didn't seem to know was how perfectly awful my brother really was!
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Mind you, he was always nice whenever she was around us; but as soon as she'd leave, he would do something terrible to me and laugh.
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There were so many things that I couldn't stand about him. The worst was that he was always telling me he could do just about everything better than I.
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"Bet I can pick more blackberries than you can," he jeered at me one day.
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"No you can't." "Can so." "Cannot!"
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"Can," he whispered. "Not," I said louder. "Can!" he whispered so low that I could hardly hear him. "Not!" I screamed back.
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We both picked berries for most of the afternoon.
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Well, he upped and did it! He not only picked more berries than I, he set a record that wasn't even challenged for the next ten years.
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"You make me sick, Richard Barber!" I yelled at him.
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Then he smiled that smile that only a rotten redheaded older brother could smile.
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I guess I would have to face it. He could run the fastest, climb the highest, throw the farthest, sit the longest, get the dirtiest, burp the loudest, and spit the farthest.
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He had no equal, certainly not me!
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"And I'm four years older than you. . . Always have been and always will be," he sneered.
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There had to be something – SOMETHING – I could do that he couldn't!
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Then an inspired thought comforted me like a fresh breeze on a hot summer day.
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"Oh, Richie," I cooed as I stood next to the rhubarb bushes. "Do you like rhubarb?"
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"No!" he said. "It's the sourest stuff on this planet!"
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Now I knew, at long last, that I had him.
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"Bet I can eat more of this raw rhubarb than you can without getting the puckers!" I challenged.
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"I don't think so!" "I do!" "I don't!" he said, narrowing his eyes. "I do!" I insisted.
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"Don't," he hissed, looking smug. "Do," I said furiously as I grabbed the first stalk and started chewing it almost down to the leaf.
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When I couldn't get one more sour bite into my mouth, he was still eating with relish. "I thought you said you don't like rhubarb," I said through pursed lips.
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"I don't like it. . .I love it!" he announced as he popped the last stalk into his mouth.
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I was so mad, I couldn't even feel how my belly was starting to ache.
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"I can't stand you, Richard Barber. . . I double dog can't stand you!" I screamed as I went into the house to be consoled by my grandmother.
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"Yeah, and I'm four years older than you, too, you little twerp. . . Always have been and always will be!" he called after me.
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Then he laughed that rotten redheaded older brother laugh.
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That night at dinner I could hardly eat.
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"Have you been eating angry apples again, child?" Bubbie asked as she sliced me a huge wedge of rhubarb pie. "I baked your favorite!"
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Richard gave me one of his extra-rotten, weasel-eyed, greeny-toothed grins.
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At bedtime my bubbie came and sat on the edge of my bed like she did every night. "Look, a falling star," she said.
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We watched it streak across the sky. Then she spit twice between her fingers and gave her chest a loud slap.
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"Why did you do that, Bubbie?" I asked.
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"I was making a wish. . . Didn't you know that wishes on falling stars come true?
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At last I knew how I was going to get back at my brother.
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For the longest time I watched the dark sky until I saw a star shoot across the night. Then I spit between my two fingers and slapped my chest.
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It was done.
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My wish was to do something – anything – better than my brother. I'd show him!
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The next morning all I could think about was my wish.
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I was thinking about it so hard I almost didn't notice the wagons and trucks pulling into the field down the road near Four Corners.
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"A traveling carnival," my brother shouted as he ran toward me. "They're setting up right here in our field! I bet I can eat more hot dogs than you can," he teased.
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He was already starting it, but this time I was going to do something so incredible that even he would have to sit up and take notice.
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He was already starting it, but this time I was going to do something so incredible that even he would have to sit up and take notice.
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That night I ran straight for the merry-go-round. We must have taken fifty turns on that carousel. But then my brother got off!
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I stayed on. I went around and around and around.
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"I knew I could do this longer than you," I shouted to my brother, feeling proud but just a bit dizzy.
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"Treesha," I heard my bubbie call out. "Get off from that thing. . . It's time to go home!"
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The last thing I remembered was stepping off from the platform. Next thing I knew I woke up with Bubbie sitting on the edge of my bed.
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Mom and Grandpa were there, too. "You gave us all a fright!" Momma said. "How do you feel?"
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"What happened?" I asked. "You fell!" my rotten redheaded older brother announced with the biggest grin on his face.
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"I don't know what we would have done," my bubbie said softly. "Your brother carried you all the way home, and then he had to run to get Dr. Lee."
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"You had to have stitches. . . I watched it all!" he said excitedly.
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"You fell off the merry-go-round right into some pop bottles," my gramps added.
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"You even passed out!" my brother chirped. "Looks like you finally did something special!"
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It was from that exact moment that our relationship changed somehow.
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"Thanks, Richie," I said to him.
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"What's a big brother for, anyway," he said blushing.
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That night we were all out in the yard. On hot Michigan nights it was my family's custom to sleep outside, where it was cool.
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"Look at those stars," Bubbie said quietly.
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"Wishes are funny, aren't they," I said. "Sometimes they come true differently than you think they will."
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"That's why you have to be very careful what you wish for. . . It just may come true!" Bubbie said.
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Then she squeezed both of our hands. "Hang onto the grass," she whispered.
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"Why, Bub?" my brother asked.
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"Because if we don't we might float up to the stars." Then she leaned over and kissed us both three times.
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"I kiss your eyes, and I hold both of your hearts in my good keeping. . . And this night I thank God that I walk this earth with both of you. . .Ah-men!"
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Then we all just lay on our blankets in the gentle summer night.
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"I'll always be four years older than you, though," my brother whispered softly. Then he smiled.
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All of us held one another's hands, and then we all drifted off to sleep.
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The End. Well, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed reading it to you. Thank you so much for joining me here for SAG Foundation BookPALS. Bye.