Sisterhood.
The first time I ran a mile in less than seven minutes, my sister paced me. For the non-runners out there, that means that during the race, she ran with me and set our pace each lap so that I could achieve my goal: to run a mile in less than seven minutes and not die.. or do anything that resembled dying, like convulse on the floor.. or fake anything that resembled dying, like fake convulse on the floor, just to get a second’s breather. The latter was the most pressing concern.
But I didn’t fake convulse. With my sister’s steady stride and encouraging words practically pulling me around the track, I broke seven. It was a big day. I achieved a long-time goal and, at the same time, acted out the most blatant metaphor of sisterhood there ever was.
Because a sister is someone who runs next to you as you go after your dreams. She is someone who supports you verbally and nonverbally along the way. She is someone who sacrifices her own superstar mile time to help you with yours. At least that’s the definition I have pieced together after 27 years of watching my sister. So maybe that’s just what an older sister is, because it doesn’t always seem to go both ways.
Here is what I have gathered a little sister is. Someone who hides behind doors waiting to scare you. Someone who picks all the cookie dough pieces out of the cookie dough ice cream, leaving you with plain vanilla. Someone who won’t let you go to sleep until she is also tired. Someone who is a real pain-in-the-neck most of the time. So much so, that it actually makes me question the judgement of the older sister.
One night when we were teenagers, my sister was on the family computer. I needed to log on for just a few minutes, so she took a break and let me (of course). When she returned, she found dirty tissues scattered all over the keyboard and mouse. I had a cold. I also had, apparently, no knowledge of social etiquette. But did my sister come barreling into my room to set me straight? Or to make me clean up? Or to declare that she wished she was an only child? Nope. Even though all of those seem like perfectly reasonable responses to my behavior. And are probably what I would have done in her position. Instead, when I returned to the computer, I found this incredibly polite note typed up on the screen. It read:
Dear Katharine,
It is rather disgusting when you leave your dirty tissues all over the computer keyboard. Going forward, please deposit them directly in the garbage. Thank you.
Sincerely,
The Sister Who Respects You The Most
A little more pleasant than what I left for her. I hear stories about older sisters getting jealous and territorial when a new baby comes along. But somehow, this pain-in-the-neck ended up with a sister who actually cried when our mother brought me to doctor’s appointments, because she thought my mom was going to give me back to the hospital. After all, the hospital was where I came from. I must just be going back home. She's always been very logical.
When I called her this weekend and said, “we haven’t talked since Easter!” she replied by listing off a detailed report of all the times we had talked, and even seen each other, since Easter (she had come to visit me in New York). I’m sorry, but when she does so many amazing things for me all the time, it’s hard to keep track!!!
My sister has supported me in every dream I’ve ever had. Even when I was little and wanted to be a duck, she was right there beside me in the mud, splashing away, not telling me it probably was not going to happen. When I wanted to pass math class, she explained every problem to me. When I wanted to move from Nashville to New York, she flew to Tennessee and helped me lug a U Haul trailer up the eastern United States. And when I wanted to break seven minutes in the mile, she volunteered to give up her own race to help me do it.
In six minutes and fifty-seven seconds, we presented the story of my life to an audience.
I think of it as my first blog entry, really. The best damn one I've ever written.
Love Love Love,
Kat
0 comments :
Post a Comment