One and 1/2 Sisters

When I was 8 years old, my parents took me aside one day and asked me a question.

How would you like to have a big sister?

No thanks, was my reply. One sister was enough, actually. I was the oldest, she was the youngest.

There was no reason to make matters worse; I had plenty of sisters. I certainly didn't need another one!

But I was informed that she already existed, and a simple explanation was given concerning my father's previous marriage and another daughter. I wasn't given a choice. She was coming, like it or not.

When they brought her home for a visit, I was quite surprised. You see—she looked like me, dark hair and dark eyes, we looked like our shared father, while my little sister looked like my mother. Having a sister who looked like me, talked like me—heck, even laughed like me was intriguing. I began to take an interest in this newcomer. I thought to myself--this just might work out after all.

And in the years ahead, it did. She taught me many things. How to dance, how to steal baby chicks from the zoo (and hide them from our father), how to share my secrets, how to teepee houses, how to dress, paint my nails, dream about boys, and so many other big sister things. She lived with us on and off for the next several years. Eventually, we all married and had children of our own, but I do have those sister memories, and I treasure them. I wonder—do they know?

I can see now that having her in our home made life is more interesting, more fun, livelier, and much more family-oriented. I liked having someone who was so much like me. I could relate to her. Even today, we have a lot in common —from decorating to our food preferences—we are sisters.

I wish I could visit with my sisters more often. I haven't seen my older sister in years. And I only see my younger sister once every year or so. I miss them; we have a shared history — with lots of good memories.

How would I like to have a big sister? I'd like one, thank you.