They drive you crazy. They steal your clothes and your shoes and are able to find your diary no matter how brilliant you think your hiding spot is. They know your strengths, they know your weaknesses, and they know how to use that information to bring you to your knees. They know exactly what buttons to push and they love to push these buttons, over and over and over again, until you snap and lash out at them and then you’re the one grounded until next year.
I should know. I have two of them.
Growing up I always heard stories about how close friends were with their sisters. How they stayed up all night gossiping, sharing their dreams, talking about boys they liked. I, on the other hand, tried very hard not to tell my sister anything. She was the biggest tattle tale ever. I always thought she should have been more grateful to me. After all, I did a pretty good job of breaking my parents in. Dealing with me every day made anything my sisters did seem angelic in comparison. For some reason that I can’t quite fathom, she never seemed to appreciate that. (She would tell you she was too busy picking up my slack in the chore department.)
My youngest sister, almost six years my junior, was too young to share that kind of information with. While I was juggling high school, two jobs, friends, and boyfriends, she was layering mismatched flower patterned clothing while jumping on the trampoline and watching Alice in Wonderland over and over and over again (until I accidentally on purpose taped over it with my mom’s soaps. Oops.) I often thought it was a shame that I was in university by the time she got to high school though. She kept getting into trouble, and I think that I could have helped her out had I been living at home. I knew how not to get caught.
Despite our growing pains, my sisters and I have managed to form a pretty strong bond. We might still bicker, ‘borrow’ each other’s clothes and shoes, and take pleasure in pushing a button or two, but deep down we know we will always be there for each other. And we know how special that is.
As I watch my youngest daughter smile as she pulls a clump of hair out of her big sister’s head just to hear her scream, I know with certainty that they, too, will learn the true meaning of that special bond called sisterhood.