My Sister, My Roommate
When I was younger, I used to whine at my mom.
“I never asked to have a sister! Things were just fine until she showed up. Can’t we send her away to live with a relative?”
I was only a year old when my sister was born, so I don’t remember how I felt about her arrival. I’ve seen photos of a toddler, who must be me, holding a screaming, shriveled-up baby, who is definitely my sister. I’m either smiling or wincing.
Now that we’re older, my sister still screams. She’s taller than I am, and still growing. I’m not. It’s difficult to maintain your status as the older sister when you have to look up at your sibling to do it. Besides the height issue, we are complete opposites in every other way. She sleeps as late as possible. She hates country music. She always gets As in school. AND she snores.
I have friends who count on me to be there for them. We need to communicate on a regular basis. So the phone is an integral part of my life. My music is also essential to my very existence. It’s how I express my feelings. Whether I’m happy or angry, I choose the appropriate CD, and I play it loud!
My sister interferes with my life. In the middle of an important call, when I’m handling a crisis, she barges into the room, throws a pillow in my face, and turns off the CD player. Then she buries herself under the covers on her bed. Moody. I came home with my first B+ of the year, and my parents were really proud. Then my sister showed them her report card-all As. I buried her stuffed animal collection in the back yard, and told her our little brother was playing with them. By the time they finish yelling at each other, I’ll be away at college.
Next Week: The Other Side of the Story!