If you could be any type of candy, what type would you be?

Charlotte and her younger brother Daniel, still flushed from the cold air, took their places on the family room floor and poured out their hard plastic pumpkins.  Halloween candy thunked and crinkled to the green carpet and they began to sort.

Daniel still had his Oscar the Grouch mask, but it was pushed up onto the top of his head.  Charlotte's old lady wig itched, but she didn't want to take it off because she thought she looked so cool.  She had been proud to have fooled so many into thinking she was Daniel's grandmother.

Their mother sat at the kitchen table with their father and actual grandmother, who looked much younger than Charlotte's old age makeup.  "Don't eat any before I check it," called their mother unnecessarily.  They had been doing this for too many years not to remember, though Charlotte knew Daniel had already eaten a Snickers in the dark gap between Mr. Grant's and the big white house with pillars.  She had pretended not to notice, but she saw Daniel check the wrapper himself and wasn't worried.

Their father added, slightly more necessarily, "Don't eat too much before dinner.  Pizza's coming!"

Charlotte loved Charlie's Pizza, but she was concentrating.  Three piles: love, like/maybe, yuck.  Charlotte and Daniel finished their sorting at about the same time.  Now the bargaining began.

Alternative Version: What is the best advice you could give a younger sibling?

Carmen was quiet on the drive home.  Leanne knew the evening with her family hadn't gone well for her husband, who was tight-lipped through most of it, but she had finally been happy.  "What, Carmen?  What's the matter?"

"How can you let your brother treat you that way?"

Leanne was surprised not only by the statement, but by the heat.  "Treat me what way?"

Carmen's fingers were white on the steering wheel.  "He was mean to you."

She didn't mean to laugh, and clamped down on it quickly as she saw Carmen was serious.  "I'm sorry, Carmen, but I didn't notice."

"How could you not?  He laid hands on you."

"Yeah?  So?"

Carmen's mouth worked, but he was so astonished, he couldn't speak.

"Listen, Carmen.  You're an only child.  You don't understand."  Leanne was getting frustrated at her husband's unhelpful indignation.  She didn't want to have to defend her relationship, especially not to someone who didn't treat her family with respect.  Someone whose own family clamped down on their emotions, hiding their feelings and letting them burn for years.  Leanne always thought that Carmen being an only child had hurt him a lot.  She knew he thought having a younger brother had hurt her, but Carmen was wrong, as he so often was.

When Leanne finally left Carmen and filed for divorce, she knew his not understanding her relationship with her brother, or her whole family for that matter, was at the heart of their problems.

Pageant Question: What is the best advice you could give a younger sibling?

Doug, are you okay?

It was probably high school when Mom started warning me not to "be a Bahre", but did she ever warn you?  You know what I mean, right, about Grandma Bahre?  About Grandma's sisters.  About how that side of the family seemed to be "pleasers" and let themselves be doormats?  It's not exclusive to girls, you know.

Don't think I haven't thought that it could be my fault.  Did I boss you around?  Was it because we could never play together for long without me getting frustrated and walking away that you found that crazy wife of yours?  Was it because Mom praised me for things you weren't doing?  Though I know it's self-centered of me to even think this way, I can't help but feel guilty.  That's a Bahre trait, too.

I was there, Doug.  I found myself in the exact same situation, but I got out.  Nobody helped me, though.  I had to realize it myself.  People whispered, that's for sure.  Mom and Dad yelled at me, but only when I did something wrong.  They never looked behind it to wonder why I had turned away.  It was because I was "being a Bahre".  Abused.  Doug, you're in an abusive relationship.

She's crazy Doug.  Mother of your children or not, it's not good for any of you.  It's not too late to get out.  Leave her.  Take the kids.  You can get Services for yourself--you don't need her for that.  You're not alone, man.  Those people who whispered behind my back were whispering what it took me years to come to terms with: I needed to go.  So do you.

Does she still steal?  Does she still lie?  Does she still threaten you?  Does she still try to get you to hit her so she can have you arrested?

I haven't seen you in a long time.  Have you lost yourself in her abuse?  I lost myself.  I didn't know who I was anymore.  I hated the real me and tried to be what he wanted.  What are you trying to be, Doug?  What do you want to be?