Big Sis

I read TIME Magazine’s recent cover article How your siblings make you who you are By Jeffrey Kluger. It’s not ground breaking stuff but it is an interesting read. It goes beyond the birth order stereotypes that everyone is aware of and looks at the amount of time we spend with our siblings when we are most impressionable. Kluger examines siblings roles as “collaborators and coconspirators, our role models and cautionary tales. They are our scolds, protectors, goads, tormentors, playmates, counselors, sources of envy, objects of pride.”

I am the younger of two children. My older sister is three years older, happily married, and has two wonderful children. We’re very close. I consider her one of my best friends. I’m not going to dissect our relationship (I hear your relieved exhale). But I am going to share some memories that crossed my mind when I was reading the article in TIME.

At about five years old I interrupted my sister and her friends at play by leaping through her door wearing nothing but a makeshift cape. I made some ridiculous comment about being the “Man of Steel” (I was clever at an early age) and bolted. I barely had time to throw on some underoos before she chased me out of the house and to the end of the block with a softball bat.

My sister has never taken any shit from anyone her entire life. This includes my father. I distinctly remember sitting in my room, while the two of them had one of their battle royales, thinking, “if she would shut the hell up and stop pushing his buttons this argument could have been over an hour ago. Why does she insist on making it worse?”

When she started dating I was always three years too young and 40-50 pounds too skinny to intimidate any of her boyfriends. That has always pissed me off.

When I was 15 I knocked on my sister’s door before departing for a school dance. I admitted that I was hoping to kiss my date at the end of the evening and was nervous as it would be my first. She didn’t laugh at me. She didn’t point out that it was creepy that I asked my sister for advice on kissing. She just smiled and said, “Every kiss is different so don’t worry about what you do. Just concentrate on the moment and do it like you mean it.”
I remember this for two reasons. That night I chickened out after a long awkward goodnight. I retreated to my car and in frustration slammed my forehead into the steering wheel inadvertently honking the horn. Also because every woman I’ve been with has told me I am a great kisser. Every one.

My sister took me for a ride in her new car when we were both teenagers. She turned to me with a concern in her eyes and sincerity in her voice that took me off guard. She said, “Promise me you will always wear your seatbelt. I’m serious about this.” To this day I never drive without my seatbelt on.

In college I would call home every Sunday night to check in with my parents. Then I would call my sister. At no time during those calls did I say to her, “Well, my classes are interesting.”

While planning her wedding she told both my parents, “At the reception, Pudge is going to get wasted. And you’re not going to say anything about it.” I did. They didn’t.

There are more stories but I promised PZ I would shorten up the prose. In short, I love my sister. There is no doubt that she played a role in shaping who I am today and it is for this reason that I will never tell her that I write a blog.