Today is my sister’s birthday. This is for her.
My sister and I have not always been close. Because I was a seemingly incurable tomboy, I spent far more time with my brother than with my sister. This is not the blog about him, however, so suffice it to say that my tastes were much more in line with his than with hers. In those years, I was more likely to be tagging along with him, picking on her, the middle child. When I wasn’t the target as the youngest, that is. One of the lasting memories from this time was when we took her huge stuffed panda and hung it from the ceiling. I don’t think she was amused; in fact, she still complains about it from time to time.
As we grew older, things didn’t really change that much. The timeline of our lives was such that we didn’t really cross paths very often. I have only been half-joking when anyone has heard me say that while she was at the mall, I was climbing trees. Despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, I know part of me always looked up to her, though I called it jealousy at the time. My memory is not always the best when it comes to my childhood, but I do remember playing in her room when she was out; the shag orange carpet hiding a bee one afternoon, as I recall. It was sunny that day and I don’t remember where she was or even what childhood game I was playing – I just know I wanted to be in her room. It was special and somewhat off-limits, generally. My big sister’s room.
I think at some level, part of me wanted to be like her because she was, in many ways, quintessentially feminine in ways that I was not and had no conscious desire to be. I never thought I could live up to her anyway – she was popular and beautiful and socially skilled. I have no delusions that her life was perfect by any stretch, but it looked a lot more perfect than mine. Around her, I felt even more awkward and weird. I enjoyed computers and poetry more than nail polish and make up; I lost myself in books and in melodramatic writing that makes me laugh today at the dire seriousness of my middle-school self. In short, I was nothing like her; we didn’t really feel like we could be sisters and as I grew older, I found myself wishing more and more often that I was like her. I was tired of being bookish and clumsy.
So, I slowly became aware of a need to become more outwardly feminine at least some of the time. It surprised me that I wanted to be a girl, sort of, but what did not surprise me is where I turned for help with that. I remember afternoons with curling irons mishaps and smeared mascara; I remember trying on her clothes and being told I could keep some of them. Basically, I remember laughing and tentatively starting the friendship that I’ve come to value more than I can easily express. I wore her senior prom dress to my junior prom. I borrowed her make-up and experimented. In short, I tried to figure out how to be less awkward and a little bit more graceful – and she was one of the best role models around. I still hung out with my brother, but now there was another facet of myself to explore.
When she left to go to college, part of me was heartbroken. I was just beginning to find a friend in her, and she went away. I retreated back into my old loves, but I was not the same tomboy anymore. When she came home, we would sometimes hang out and it was fun, but still a little awkward. As my own high school graduation approached, I ended up applying to only one school – the one where she was. I don’t remember how that came about, but I know that I was excited about having my RA sister close by as I got used to being a college student. I had her there with me for a year before she graduated and moved on, and in that year we spent time together now and then. I loved those times. Though they were somewhat sparse as we moved in different circles, it was often enough to know that if I needed her, she was no longer far away.
From those days onward, her and I have done nothing but grow closer. She is my best friend above all best friends – and there are so many memories that I cherish. We’ve gone through heartaches and happiness, laughter and tears, heart-to-hearts and meaningful silences. I remember reading at her wedding and making everyone cry – including myself. I remember shopping trips and closet cleanings that felt like shopping. I remember her with her infant sons and knowing that she was going to be a better mother than I could ever be and that she was doing yet another thing that I don’t think I could do. But now there was no jealousy, there was just pride and admiration.
One of the most important moments for me over the last few years was my wedding and how I could finally ask her to be my maid of honor. There were times when that awkward little girl inside me thought I would never find the right someone because there was still so much of that stubborn tomboy around. So when I did find him, there was no hesitation about who to ask to stand with me. I never really pointed this out at the time, but having her do my makeup was so beautifully surreal – suddenly I was 14 again and my big sister was helping me look as beautiful as I could for the high school dance. This, though, was so much more – and what we have, now, is so much more. I cherish those memories, but the memories I am making with her now, I would not trade for anything. She is strong and beautiful, kind and funny, smart and accomplished. It is women like her that inspire women like me to be more than perhaps they would have.
I may be a doctor and a professor, a wife and a daughter, a poet and a thinker…and there are countless whys and ways I have become those things; but, I can honestly say, I am the woman I am because of the woman she is…
Love you.
-T
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