My family never loved me as they loved my brother Peter. I was never hugged as tightly, not smiled to so sweetly, nor encouraged in the way that they doted on him.
My brother Peter was no exception in not caring about me, in fact he indulged himself in active malice toward me. It appeared to please him to hurt me. For example, when I gave him a copy of a professional photograph that I had had taken of me as a young woman, because those were the days when your resume included your professional photograph in the top right corner, my brother Peter expressed his contempt of me by holding the photograph that I had given him out to the dogs and encouraging them to chew on it. My father "rescued" my photo and kept it in his office for the next sixty-odd years, where it was a reminder to me of yet another ugly little family incident. It still saddens me to see how I addressed my photograph to π, (Pi ≈ 3.14159), as in Peter Pie which I affectionately used to call my brother Peter in the futile hope that he would return my sister's love.
Caption: Professional photograph of Annmarie Throckmorton circa 1969
Peter Senior and Peter Junior-Throckmorton 1989.jpg
Peter Junior and his paternal grandmother Throcky-early 1980s.jpg