My parents had 4 kids between November 1973 and October 1979. Four kids in just under six years. I have no idea how they managed to stay sane and kind, but they did. I'm the second. I have an older sister, Gina, and two brothers, Jon and Joel. Statistically, at least one of us should have turned out to be a huge, mean, jerk. My brothers and my sister, though, are three of the kindest, most supportive, loving people I can imagine existing in the world. In addition to being smart, interesting people, they always have my back.
Gina has been my closest girlfriend for a long, long time now. I've always idolized my big sister, like many a little sis. We shared a room until I was about 14. I could have shared until she left home, but Gina was DYING by then to have her own space. It wasn't a big deal to me then, and I totally understand her motivations now that I'm an empathetic adult. See, I was a mess and Gina was our very own Commie Neatnik. (She was also known as "Captain Fun", but we won't get into that now).
She had this ability to arrange things perfectly, then keep them lovingly arranged. We had mirror twin closets with built-in shelving. I remember sitting in her closet, studying the way she had laid out her things in a pleasing pattern on her shelves. Then I would try to recreate it on my side. Never looked quite the same. Probably had something to do with the fact that she hung up her clothes on a regular basis. Our differences in standards of neatness couldn't have made it easy for her. But she was never mean.
I realize now what a pain in the hindquarters I must have been. I was bratty sometimes, but I also just wanted to be like her. I remember when she first started wearing nylons. I sulked and cried until Mom got me some, too. I think it was the same thing with the milestone of the first bra. I never let her be unique. I remember being in the fabric store one day and following Mom and Gina around saying something along the lines of "But I want that one!" every time she picked a bolt off the racks. I didn't really want any of them, but I hated that if I wanted it, she wouldn't want it anymore. She wanted to be different when I always wanted to be like her. I was being deliberately awful, but they were both far kinder than I would have been had the roles been reversed.
Being the little sister, you feel picked on because the big sis gets to do everything first, and it always seemed to me that she got the best stuff while I got the hand-me-downs. But the truth is, my entrance in the world blew her cozy little threesome out of the water. And yet she always let me tag along; she always let me be the best friend, know the deepest secrets, share the best jokes.
When we were at BYU together, she would meet me for lunch under the trees over by the Brimhall building. BYU wasn't the best experience of my life. I never felt like I belonged there, and it was always a lonely place for me. Those hours with my sister, they were my life line, my solace. On Fridays we would go to Hogi Yogi for lunch to celebrate the end of the week. She would eat a veggie sandwich and a vanilla yogurt with fruit in it (always so virtuous!) While I ate turkey and chocolate with more chocolate. My big sister shaped me both in the ways I wanted to be like her and the ways I wanted to be different. I love her for both.
Now, she's a mom to six of the most delightful human beings to exist, and she allows me to be part of their family. Her doors are always open to me. She lets me come over and cuddle her babies and smell their little heads when my heart has ached missing the presence of the babies I haven't had yet. She lets me tell them silly, exagerrated stories about our sisterly history, and she doesn't mind when I come over at dinner time because I can't face another weeknight dinner alone. Possibly more importantly, she believes in me, and she expresses that confidence to me, which bolsters my own faith in my ability to navigate whatever comes. I admire her faith, her charity, her boundless patience, her wisdom. Some of my most important insights have come in the snatches of conversation we have shared between the dirty dishes and the dirty diapers. She is a mighty woman and I still want to be like her.
Next post--The brother who has taught me more about Christ than anyone else I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment