My Big Little Sistah and the Family Un-feud

When I close my eyes and think back to my earliest recollection of my little sister, I remember her putting on ice skates in Pennsylvania, as we trudged through the backyards in our sweatshirts, winter coats, hats and mittens. The snow kept our ice skate blades from getting too dull and we made it to the frozen pond behind our home unscathed. I was maybe in 3rd grade, and she was probably in kindergarten. She was little and I was big, but that didn't last forever.

Another recollection I have of her is sharing makeup and hair styling supplies, as the bureau was in my room, but the plug for the curling iron and hair dryer was in hers. I don't recall ever fighting over makeup or clothing, though sometimes we had discussions later in life about the boys that each of us had chosen to hang out with. I don't know why it was, but every guy I've ever dated that met my sister, wanted me to consider a threesome with her and him. Sorry guys, keep that one in fantasy land, will you - incest is a sin.

Besides that though, we did share what we had and we tried to get along. Maybe it would have been different if there had been more of us, but we two girls were sisters by destiny and as we aged, became friends by choice.

As young girls, we sang in the church choir together - she was the soprano and I the alto. At home she played the flute elegantly while I struggled with my breathing techniques on the clarinet. I was too much of a free spirit and non conformist to worry about the steady beats and keeping time, preferring to go off on my own rhythms and melodies that no one else could follow or would even want to.

She and my brother shared more as kids because they were closer in age. I took care of them, and referred to them as the "kids" when I spoke about them to my parents.

As teenagers we carried our responsibilities as best we could, and I'm ashamed to say that I could have been a better big sister, but I wasn't. She became one of my enablers as I followed a rocky road for a period of time.

Motherhood for both of us brought challenges that were meant for people beyond our years. We fought and survived. Our strengths and courage have been earned- the tears shed- real and industrious.

There is no greater sound to hear than a sister's call of cheer. To only me she says "How are you my big little sistah, my dear? And I reply to her, back, in the exact same way, "I am doing great, my big little sistah" though I am referring to her height and she is referring to my age. I am grateful that we are comfortable with our places, the eldest and the middle child.

As adults, we make up for the lack of conflict between us by instigating a little fun. For example, we have a pair of earrings that each of us enjoys wearing. She swears they were hers first but I insist they were mine before she stole them from me. For decades she had had those earrings and wore them proudly until one day when I was at her house I stole them from her jewelry box. A few years later, she returned the act and used my daughter as an accomplice to steal them back.

Recently on our family re-union vacation, she was feeling a bit blue and under the jurisprudence of Captain Jack Daniels, I felt compelled to return to her just one of the earrings and not the pair. This tradition has traversed the generations and our children have now engaged in this familial non-feud, conspiring and consulting for the other to get the earrings back. It's a joke and everyone participates in the scheming.

As an aside, my brother also vacationed with us on the family re-union, bringing along his two youngest sons. The second night of our vacation, due to a drunken visit with Captain Jack, he misplaced his car keys. And so on the third day Cathy and I tore up the resort, the arcade room and our own accomodation's looking for his keys to no avail.

The following morning, Dave awoke to find his car keys in his hand. My mother had been praying to St. Anthony that he would find his keys and as soon as she heard, she praised the St. for helping my brother locate his keys. But ever the humorist, my husband Bob said St. Anthony had nothing to do with it. He praised Captain Jack for bringing the keys back.

On the fourth day after a night of blues and booze, we awoke - my sister and I - each with one earring and no stealth ruse. At breakfast her middle son Jackson noticed that she was wearing the infamous earings again but on further inspection he realized she had only one in. At first he thought we had bought another pair but when he realized instead we had shared...

"How come you guys are sharing?" he wanted to know.

All we could do was laugh with devious smiles and respond "Because of Captain Jack and that's what sisters do". I'm a lucky gal to have a big little sistah like Cat.