I am the oldest child. Like many, I grew up under the expectation that I should be mature, my sister’s caretaker. I was classically anxious, organized, and bossy. My belief was that my little sister, who is three years my junior, was both my responsibility and my subordinate.
We had epic, sisterly battles. I was type A, and my sister was not. We shared a bedroom, where my side had a bookcase, with my books arranged in alphabetical order and my bed tidily made. My sister hid chips under her bed among the dust bunnies and other random objects. I had an American Girl doll (Samantha, of course). Her favorite doll was a plastic witch with glowing, green skin. We were very, very different.
We both had a mean side
When we were kids, I would entrap my sister in any way I could. Yes, I was a control freak and sometimes, not for my sister’s betterment, but used for her downfall. I would play a game with her called “Yard Sale,” where we lay out toys on our beds to sell to each other in exchange for coins. I lured her into selling some brand new doll clothes our aunt bought her, while also convincing her to trade me her dimes for my nickels. I easily convinced her that nickels are bigger, so they were more valuable.
We also played a game I invented called “Princess and Helper.” It’s played exactly like it sounds. I was the princess, and she was to do my bidding. When our mom made homemade cookies, as she often did, we were allowed two per day. However, I would convince my sister that as my personal helper, she would need to go down and sneak me more cookies. After enjoying them, I would tattle on her for sneaking, or sometimes I would even summon our mom mid-sneak to catch my sister.
My sister, the funny and witty one, would pay me back, utilizing the very thing I made her do for me: sneak. She confessed, years after I moved away from home, that she scrubbed the toilet with my toothbrush and replaced it, waiting for me to brush my teeth the next morning before heading off to school.
Growing up helped us grow together
The reality is, I was quite jealous of my sister when we were growing up. She was always getting others to laugh, and in her teen years she was a hazel-eyed, curvy blonde. I was nearly flat-chested, skinny, and overwhelmingly uncool. My sister was usually the life of the party. I was a stick-in-the-mud.
After I moved away and got married, my sister completed nursing school and also wed. We both went on to build our families. I now have four kids, and my sister has three. As adults, my sister and I have found ourselves exploring how much we have in common, from raising kids, to our political and religious beliefs, and our stellar husbands who put up with our shenanigans and strong opinions. I can say that without a doubt, my sister is my best friend.
The things about her that drove me nuts when we were kids are the very things I appreciate about her now. Her humor can help life be lighter. Her ability to care deeply for people shows her incredible empathy. She will drop everything to help someone in need. She’s also the biggest hype woman of other humans, always dropping compliments on someone else living their best life. She’s a fierce advocate for marginalized people.
Sibling rivalry and the big sister-little sister dynamic is quite common, and I think we both have learned that our differences are what makes us amazing besties. Our sisterhood has been a long journey, one that has evolved from a constant battle into an appreciation that carries us through all life’s ups and downs.
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