When I was a child I was always unabashedly aware that I, without a doubt, had hit the jackpot as far as big sisters go. Although we have different mothers, my sister and I have never counted each other as anything short of fully kin- no half-sistering it for us. Being ten years apart in age, I’ve always considered her a grown up; after all, from the view of a five-year-old, fifteen-year-olds are obviously the latest word in the adult world of cool and hipness. I start at five because I really don’t have many memories before than, however there are plenty of home videos to vouch for her involvement in my pre-five life.
As a small youngin’ I held my sister in reverent awe- that one so cool as her would choose to play barbies with me, would choose to teach me the important things of life like how to sing camp songs and how to paint on my easel. She supplied the My Little Pony’s and the original scented Strawberry Shortcake dolls that she once played with. As I grew older she would take me to the zoo and make crafts for me. It later would be discovered that it was she who dressed up like the Easter Bunny to pay me an Easterly visit when the magic of childhood belief was waning. When I was newly a teen she introduced me to the terribly great movies of the ’80s, (like The Heather’s: the original Mean Girls).
Because of her I became an Aunt. Because of her I ran my first 5K. Because of her I flinch every time I hear The Little Drummer Boy, for fear someone will beat me in time with the “Puh-rum-pum-pum-pum”.
Now that I’m older I still look to with amazement. She’s a wife, a mama of three crazy boys, a gourmet cupcake connoisseur, a book of craft knowledge and girl-scout songs. She’s been my childhood friend and companion, she’s comforted me during the waves of my teen years and stood by my side during the first few steps of adulthood. And to her I am forever grateful to be a little sister.
Lisa Louise, you turd, I love you forever and always, miles and hours away each and everyday.