Hannah Rose and Her Devilish Grin

Today is November 17, David and Sarah's birthday. No, they are not twins. Yes, they share a birthday. So do Meghan and Natalie.

Since neither of them were home, I took the liberty of waking up early to open their presents. Only when I went downstairs, the dining room table was surprisingly empty. Mom must have forgotten. Hopefully she didn't forget to make the yellow cake with chocolate icing because I was planning on blowing out their candles and stealing their wishes tonight.

I used to think there was something wrong with me because I had my own birthday.  Was I destined for the same sort of weirdness that possessed my older, mud-puddle drinking, lone-birthday boy brother Andrew?

When Mom was pregnant with her seventh shit, I prayed to the heavens to save me from that fate and let the child drop on my day. But she came 13 days early on July 20.

I was five years old, and a brat.

I remember sitting around the dining room table waiting for the Dodge Ram to pull in the gravel driveway with the new baby. I was nervous, but excited. Mostly because when they got home we could eat the giant cookie we had made for the baby.

Mom and Dad walked in, Natalie and Sarah cooed. Andrew probably made some smart-ass comment that I don't remember and chances are David barely looked up from his baseball cards. Meghan, well shit, I don't remember Meghan even being there. I was too absorbed in myself and the thing that had just walked in the door to think about Meghan.

I just stood there, frozen, scared to death.

Mom, what is that in your arms?

Rachel, meet Hannah Rose, your little sister.

No, mom, please. That's not her.

Rach, this is Hannah.

But, Mom, she is so hairy. She doesn’t look like a baby, or a rose. She looks like a monkey. Please, no, Mom. Can you take her back. It's not too late. Please, I don’t want another little sister. Meghan is enough.

No Rachel.

Sulking, I walked to the table, sat down, rage seething, and tore the whole damn cookie to pieces. I was too sickened to eat it. All that work for nothing, I thought.

Thank gosh she wasn't born on my birthday. No way I was going to let that thing share my birthday. 

Oh, look at the spaz not getting her way. 

Andrew, be quiet.

Rachel, go to your room. Don’t ruin everyone else’s day. Have your own pity party. When you are ready to accept Hannah, you can come back downstairs.

I guess, at some point, I walked downstairs. I had no choice, either accept Hannah or starve. 

Ya know what, I am pretty glad I was mature enough to make such a tough decision. Because Hannah turned out to be a pretty cool girl. If not cool, at least entertaining.

Honestly, she is a downright character. She has a deep, raspy voice, absurdly thick, long, curly hair, dances like a mad woman, loves gossip  and when she is excited she talksandtalksandtalksandtalksandtalksandtalks.

Her stories typically bewilder audiences. She dumbfounds people with her breathless intensity that pours from every inch of her 5'4 frame. They stare, mouths agape, eyes wide, bodies leaning forward.

But really, they don’t hear a word she’s saying.

What the hell is this girl talking about? She’s been talking for ten minutes straight, a mile a minute, and hell, I can’t understand a word of it. Does she realize we are here?

And then, just as they think she's telling the never ending story, she stops, and makes some end-insinuating comment like ‘isn’t that hysterical.’

Utter silence. Is it over?

The quiet pause though, unfortunate for listeners, is her cue to jump into another here-there-and-everywhere story.

Hannah was cut from musical theater in middle school. So was I. Neither of us ever had a starring role in a town play like Sarah who was casted in 'A Little Princess' and 'The Coney Island of Doctor Monroe,' or Natalie who was the leading lady in Berlin's 'Wagon Wheels West.'  Hannah and I had been resigned for the noble work of Stage Crew. I guess our  life presence was just too damn powerful to be wasted on the stage.

As long as I can remember, Hannah's been obsessed with celebrities. Still to this day, the slanted walls of her attic bedroom are papered head to toe with magazine clippings of her favs – Miley Cyrus, Jusitn Timerblake, The Spice Girls – yet the truth is, they have nothing on Hannah, because she is the star of a comedic drama called, yes, "Her Life."

Growing up, we had a house rule 'no soda (at home) until you are 17.'  Hannah cracked the system and masterminded soda-thievery. She stole cans from the fridge, took 'em to the kitchen, hid in the corner and drank as much as she could until the fizz made her nose tingle with pain. Then, instead of throwing the half-empty cans away and leaving traceable evidence that would likely be found when Mom started making dinner, she hid them in the back of the kitchen cabinet behind the can goods. A few weeks would pass until Mom found the cans. Eventually, Mom got so sick of the wasted soda that she abandoned her rule. It was one of Hannah's greatest victories - she earned three years of unchallenged soda-drinking privilege.

If you can't tell already, Hannah is bold. She doesn't hear the words no. Her mind must translate 'no' into motivation to keep going. When she knows what she wants,  she goes after it, and doesn't stop till she gets it.

I admire Hannah. A lot. Her charisma captivates people. The workers at Daves GHM, my parents landscaping company in New Jersey, love her just as much as the workers at Pizza Bobs in Ann Arbor, Michigan, who she has on speed dial, and calls sometimes just to talk.

Her passion is so damn believable. She tells the best lies I have ever heard. My mom must of told her the story about the boy who cried wolf a million times growing up. Yet it never stopped her from telling a fib. Last week, she told us her and her roommates bought a baby pig. And we believed her. 

In kindergarten Hannah persuaded a group of her classmates to go digging for gold.

Mom was sitting at a baseball game and overheard a group of mom’s talking about how their kids got in trouble at school. They kept looking at her with disapproving eyes, and finally Mom grew a pair and decided to ask them what happened.

They turned to her and said, ‘Hannah told the kids on the bus that there was gold under the seats. She brought tools from home and the kids dug holes in the seats in mad pursuit of gold.’”

Hannah rebuked, ‘Mom, there is gold in the seats. I saw it myself. We just didn't dig deep enough.’ Sadly, they never found it. 

I used to fret over Hannah's future. Rightly so, one time, she was 8 or 9 and came home from school, laid on my mom's bed, and started crying. Two hour later she was still crying as she continued to divulge details of her day in the Principal's office. Mom insisted on calling the school.  Hannah pleaded with her not to. When Mom grabbed the phone, Hannah promptly fessed up to her meaningless ruse.

Hannah's destiny seemed to be written by the Jersey Devil. She would be the ring leader of a Thelma and Louise-like troop of bandits called 'the little girls,' Meg, Han, and Mel, my little sisters.

One little, two little, three little monkeys jumping on the bed. Meghan, I dare you to put on Mom's lipstick.

No Hannah, we shouldn’t. We’ll get in trouble.

You’re such a scaredy-cat Meg. You never do anything fun.  Look, I’m not scared, and I am younger than you. 

She said as she smeared the pink shit all over her face.

Come on, Meg. Live a little.

But Han.

She gave a fierce look that said show me you have more balls than that.

Okay, Han. Put it on me.

No, you have to put it on yourself.

And like that, Hannah suckered her big, unsure sis into painting herself pink.

More Meg.

As Meg went to put on more, mom walked into the room.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Meg’s eyes filled with elephant tears of guilt.

Hannah cocked her head.

Putting on makeup Mom. Meg made me do it. She smirked.

Come downstairs, now.

Stop crying Meg. Your such a baby. We won’t get in that much trouble.

Stand next to each.

Why are you taking a photo mom?

Don't worry about it Han.

Flash. Snap. Captured forever two faces, palettes of pink, staring into the future - one smeared with tears, the other defiantly grinning.

Mom struggled to punish the kid who feared nothing. 

Luckily, Hannah turned out okay. Well, not just okay, the girl is actually special as hell. She has worked her ass off to get where she is. School, field hockey, telling the truth - things haven’t always come easy to her.

Growing up, she loved a boy named William whose mother coached field hockey at North Carolina. Karen took three of Hannah’s sisters, Meg, Mel and myself, in as Tar Heels, yet when the time came for Hannah to go to college, Karen didn’t want her.

Yet Michigan did. So Hannah said to hell with Karen and Carolina, I am paving my own path.

And that path, like Robert Frost says in ‘The Road Not Taken,’ has made all the difference.

It has transformed Hannah. From the vinyl of her fibs and never ending stories, a deep intellect has emerged; a young woman who understands people, their innate need for acceptance, and gives it to them the only way she knows how - by being her crazy, free, fun-loving self.

Last weekend, Hannah played her last field hockey game for the University of Michigan. She played it on the Carolina field I called ‘home’ for four years against her sisters, Meg and Mel, for the right to play in the NCAA Final Four.  Oh yeah, and her childhood love, William, was the ball boy.

It was a sad yet poetically moving end to Hannah’s field hockey journey.

A large part of me desperately pulled for Hannah to win. It was the part of me that had stood beside her on the track at Eastern High School a few summers ago helping her train for her Junior season at Michigan.

We were at the end of a tough workout; only two more 400s to go. I had crushed Hannah on just about every sprint of the day.  The thought of doing two more bored me to no end. What difference did one of two more make. 

As we took the line for the second to last rep, I asked Hannah if she wanted to skip the last one. She looked at me, and said, “You don’t have to run it, but I do.”

I was amazed. I had given her an easy way out, and she point blank shoved it in my face, and said no.

She taught me something about courage and character that day. She knew as well as I knew she wasn't going to beat me on that last sprint. That wasn't her motivation. She had to run it, because it made her and her team stronger.

Hannah played her heart out against her sisters. In the end, she lost 5-1.

Mel sobbed for sister from the opposing sideline.

I didn’t see a single tear fall from Hannah Rose’s eyes.

She was too proud to let us see her pain

What I did see, though, was a very faint trace of an all too familiar grin. The gleam of defiance shining in her deep eyes. I felt the radiance of a devilish grin that used to scare me. Only now, I'm not scared of that grin.

I am proud of it, and the girl who wears it. 

Hannah Rose has taught me a lot; she's inspired me, amazed me, and continues to amuse me.

I can't help but thinking how glad I am that Mom decided to keep her.