Happy Birthday

My sister was just what every little sister should be. She wanted to do the things I did. She wanted to be where I was. She wanted to follow me where I went. There's nothing wrong with that. But I was a typical older sister and didn't want my four-years-my-junior little sister tagging along with me everywhere. 

On my best friend's eighth birthday she had a party at her house. I was invited and my sister wanted to come too. I did not want her to be there. My mother was understanding, but she reminded me that it would be very difficult for my sister to understand that she just shouldn't go with me to the birthday party. Mother agreed to distract my sister while I slipped out the front door and walked down the street. I remember reaching the corner of our property and hearing my little sister call for me from the upstairs window. It had taken her only that long to discover my absence and realize her abandonment. She may not remember this incident, but her calls for me to come back and let her come with me still echo in my memory.

My sister was just what every little sister should be. She idolized me for years until she grew wiser and realized that I was a very flawed person. This realization took her a very long time and in the meantime, I was often pestered by my little sister standing at my elbow doing everything I did. I found this especially irksome because I had a vastly different view of and relationship with my older sister. There are three of us girls and I fall in the middle, two years younger than the older and four years older than the younger. I wanted to be nothing like my older sister and took every opportunity to prove that I was different, that I was not her. (This also was a mistake, but one for another time.) I thought my younger sister should take strides towards being her own person, being different than I. To this end, I took to ignoring her when she became too tiresome.

We lived in a small home and shared bedrooms until I was well into my teens. This left very little room for a quiet moment alone. I would sneak into the attic and crawl among the stored blankets and winter clothing whenever I wanted time to myself. Usually I spent the time reading and avoiding chores. Inevitably, my sister followed me, thus defeating my seclusion. She talked to me. She brought dolls for us to play together. She brought a book she couldn't even read yet and sat quietly next to me. She never read her own pages; she just carefully watched me out of the corner or her eye, waiting to turn her page when I turned mine. I just ignored her.

My sister was just what every little sister should be. She learned, over time, that her constant attention irritated me, and that she could gain more of my time by making planned attacks instead of a sustained barrage. She noticed, too, that I spent much of my evenings writing in my journal, and later in life, writing simply because I liked to write. My sister also learned that I was most vulnerable to her pleas at the end of the day after school, chores, and living with four siblings had worn down my snarky responses.

I don't remember when my sister began leaving notes on my pillow, but she can't have been very old, probably around four. Sometimes there was an impetus for her note: I had yelled at her that day for touching my stuff; I had gotten in trouble for something and spent part of the afternoon crying; I had refused to let her play with an electronic game our older sister got for Christmas. Whatever the reason, my sister would address the issue of the day and hope that I wasn't sad anymore, or wasn't mad at her anymore, or would maybe let her play with the game tomorrow. When there wasn't an occasion for a note, I received a masterfully crafted card, or drawing, or popup piece of art always addressed to me and always signed LOVE. Sometimes she put her name. Sometimes she just wrote I LOVE YOU. She probably doesn't know until now, but I kept them.

My sister is everything a sister should be. She is a remarkably accomplished, beautiful young woman who has lived a better life than I have. She began dancing when she was ten and has never stopped since. She has won trophies and championships for her talent, skill, poise, and hard work. She has turned around and shared her knowledge through teaching. She has traveled abroad on a university medical study team and presented her research at nationally renowned conferences. She put herself through a bachelor of science university degree, an Emergency Medical Technician certification, and is now in paramedic school.

Even more than all that, my sister is still a loving, caring, and purely good person. I am more proud of her than of almost anyone I have ever known or ever met. I'm sorry I was such a terrible older sister.

Happy Birthday, my one and only Little Sister.