For My Sister

Today is my big sister’s birthday. I won’t say how old she is (all I’ll say is that she’s thirteen years older than me…) but that hardly matters!

For the past few decades, she has raised me, taught me right from wrong, encouraged me, supported me, even backed up the bad decisions I’ve made, the ones that we all have to learn from for ourselves.

In 5th grade, she came to my Spelling Bee. I was so excited to be in the Bee that year – I had won in our class by spelling “Encyclopedia” – now I was up against the rest of the winners in the school! I don’t remember what word I had to spell, but I got it wrong and sat there, embarrassed, for the rest of the Bee. But there was another face in the audience that sat there through the whole thing along with me – my sister, Shelly. She was there to support me, as usual. She was proud of me, regardless of the word I failed to spell correctly.

When I was thirteen, I had the crush of a lifetime – a crush that lasted for a few years. I remember getting the mail one day and it was a note from my sister – she had clipped out a Dear Abby article about a girl’s puppy love. I thought, ‘What is she trying to tell me? That I’m THIS stupid??’ That wasn’t it at all. She saw her sister broken hearted and didn’t want her to dwell over it any longer, so in her big sisterly way, she helped the best way she could at the time: reaching out to me via mail and showing me what was happening to me through an advice column. She got her point across loud and clear, even if I didn’t want to hear it at the time. (But thank you – I think I still have that article in the envelope somewhere)

I used to love to sleep over at my sister’s apartment on 6^th Street when I was in grade school. She always had the coolest movies to watch (where I first watched – and fell in love with – Brendan Frasier in School Ties!) and the best snacks! She’d take me to school, just a few blocks away, in the morning (after making cinnamon rolls! Yum.)

That’s when we started taking Karate classes together. Because clearly, the way us girls are in our family, it’s probably not a good idea if we throw anything and everything we can and curse every name in the book and basically frighten anyone that tries to break in to our homes. We should try to contain ourselves with… Ka-rah-te. Self discipline. Which is why I karate chopped my poor sister in the neck on our second day. I really didn’t mean to, I think I was mad our instructors were so Cobra Kai militant that I had to do push-ups when my eyes wandered around the room, looking at stretching devices (you put me on that and we’ll have some bigger problems than karate chopping, buddy). So, like a good sister, I took it out on Shelly with a “Haaaiiii-YA” to the neck. (She was completely okay, but I did get a giggle out of our instructor. Heheheh) We stopped going about a month in. Meh, we knew enough. We were more Drunken Master than Mr. Miyagi anyway.

(Note to Martial Arts instructors: You should probably not have what looks like torture devices hanging around your dojo, because I WILL stare and if you make me do push-ups again for staring, you’ll have to pry my Wolverine claws off your knee caps and neck. Not a threat, just.. saying… Don’t.)

I remember one night I slept over and we were in bed and she got a late night phone call from her then fiancé, Kerry, who lived in Wisconsin while we resided in Indiana, stating that he wouldn’t be able to make it to see her that weekend. She hung up and began to cry. I remember thinking how in love she must be and I asked her what was wrong, even though I knew. She said she was okay, that Kerry wouldn’t be able to make it that weekend and she missed him, was all. But it hurt me to see her so upset over something that some would consider trivial. (Now, she might be embarrassed that I’ve mentioned her crying on my blog, but it’s an important detail in the story and it’s also important that everyone knows that I’m honestly not the only case basket in my family – just the biggest! :P) That was when I knew that he meant so much to her.

Fast forward a year or so later and I am a bridesmaid in her wedding (wearing a not very flattering dress, I might add. Geez! Though it was right for the time period, I guess. I’ll give you that!) and I didn’t think I’d get emotional at all – I was really happy for her and knew I’d still see her often, even though she was moving to Wisconsin to start her family. But as I sat in the pew, watching them light their unity candle, I began to cry. Not tears of joy, but tears of sorrow. I was sad that I was losing my sister! I could no longer have sleepovers at her apartment, or take karate classes, or make cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I quickly learned she wasn’t leaving me as a sister, she was starting her own family that she would share with me and the rest.

I remember holding her son for the first time. I thought I would break him, he was so tiny. I went home after that weekend and tried to picture him older, a teenager, and just couldn’t do it. I knew I was fond of him though. And now look….

…he’s a teenager. And him and I get along just how I always imagined. *cough*I’mTheFavoriteAunt*cough,cough* :D

And, also just like I thought, you raised a great son. You always say you’re proud of me and my accomplishments, but *I* am proud of YOU.

I may not be the best sister or friend or girlfriend, but I will say that I have the memory of an elephant, so if you’ve done something for me in the past, know that I have yet to forget it. One could barely hint at something, and I’ll know exactly what they’re talking about. Shelly may not even remember the moments I’m bringing up, but I do. Some how, in some way, they have impacted my life for the better.

I remember when she wanted to write a book about her/our life – I thought it was a brilliant idea and I wanted in on it somehow, even if it was just reading first drafts (I am forever the reader/writer of the family) She sent me a chapter or two of what she had written, but after that, she forgot about it and decided not to write it. I loved it though! I was so proud of her for attempting to take on such a huge task like writing a book! Especially about our lives. Writing a book isn’t easy, if anyone is curious. And when you write about your own past, you’re forced to go into both the good moments and relive the bad moments. It can be quite draining. Maybe that’s why she stopped writing it, but if she’s reading this (and I know she is, because, well, SISTERS) I want her to know that I encourage her to continue when she gets the chance! I think all of my siblings (we have three brothers) could write a book about their own lives if they chose to do so. We’ve all had such rich and colorful lives so far – imagine if we all collaborated on one big book! And, of course, I find myself writing this.

I love you, Shelly. I am so proud of who you are as a sister, a mother, a wife, a friend, and a woman. There isn't a perfect gift for a great sister, so this time, I did what I do best: Write. <3 span="">

P.S. - Yes, I still have your anklet.