I was seven years older than Hannah. I suffered the misfortune of being like my father. My sister suffered the misfortune of being like my mother. What to do about it? Absolutely nothing. It was like asking a leopard to change the color of its spots. What could my mother have done about this? She could have tried loving me like a mother should love a daughter. The concept of conditional love was firmly cemented into me being by this time. It would be years before I would find someone who does love me unconditionally. Because I did not understand the meaning. I loved my sister. My sister loved herself. My mother always claimed to love us both equally. Words. My mother never understood the meaning of the words. It also took me years to understand this woman did love me. But she did not love me enough. She loved me as long as I was doing what she wanted me to do. It was the same for my father. As long as I was playing along with his game, then he loved me. This situation did not bode well for me. I have never been one to follow the crowd. I have always marched along to the beat of a different drum. I was never one to do something for my parents only to gain their love. I realized at a very early age this was not going to happen. I would have to change my very spots and my very soul to become what they wanted me to become. I was often beaten for not towing the family line. I did not want to get hurt. I did not want to go against my parents. It was that I had different opinions which did not fit into their image. I learned to keep my mouth shut after a few years. I learned to watch behavior. I learned how to read and interpret people and their behavior. One such example with my sister and I was the issue of chores. I began to have to clean up after my sister. I had to clean her in her baths. I had to help her brush her teeth. I had to clean up the mess in the bathroom after she left it. Let me make it clear that I did not like being Hannah’s maid servant. I constantly complained about her. It did not matter. I was still required to clean up after her. I had to do these things for Brian as well. But for some reason it did not bother me as much. Also he was not as bad as Hannah. The stage was set. I was set up by my parents to be the subservient child to Brian and Hannah. There was nothing I could do about it. I did as I was told. I wanted to be a good girl after all. I learned that complaining about my situation did no good. I often cleaned after Brian and Hannah as they sat and played. In fact, I was required to do this every Saturday growing up while I was in grade school. Resentment began to build. John and my parents also worked around the house on Saturdays. Brian and Hannah did very little. There were several things going on. The first being my parents did not want to spend the extra money it would take to have someone else clean their house. They also wanted to do these menial chores for themselves. The resentment continued to build until it was out of my control. We were still living in our home in the nice modest suburban area outside of San Francisco. I have never understood why my parents decided to turn Saturdays into living hell days. There was screaming. There was eight hours of hard labor. There was resentment. There were plenty of arguments. I can still get anxiety on Saturdays thinking my parents want me to come and clean their house. It was not a fun day. This went on for years until I went away to college. I was forced into service to my parents for years. The stress and anxiety were horrid. There was no positive feedback. We were fed on Saturday evenings. That was the only positive about Saturdays growing up. We did get to eat.