Friday thing : ode to my baby sister
The most tolerant human I know.
When I was almost 9, my sister was born and I got to name her. Choosing “Michelle,” among the Top 10 girl names in the US between 1966 and 1980, was the start of my gentle [mostly unintentional] big sister tyranny. Not only did she have to endure being one of at least 3 Michelles in class for 13 years of school but this sweet Cancer girl also put up with a relentlessly regimented Virgo sibling every time our parents went out, plus for entire summer breaks. I made daily schedules of meals & activities,1 arranged all kinds of crafts, and coordinated TV time + chores. Anytime I agreed to play Barbies or Fisher-Price Little People with her, I would pick my dolls & accessories first in the most imperious, mean girl way that I would never allow my own children or even students get away with. (I blame my Leo side). But then she would get up the next morning smiling & ready/not crying or hiding in her bedroom, rarely begging my mom not to leave.
Yet we did get along pretty well overall through the years. Being nine years apart, we didn’t have to share a room or toys or friends, and eventually I got to drive more often to cool places if I took her along. She believed my word was gospel in most things from books to music to movies, and I even convinced her for a shockingly long time that putting up your pointer finger at someone was the naughty gesture.2 A couple of teachers realized we were related and unfortunately expected her to display the same chatty teacher’s pet behaviors3 as I did, but she ultimately transferred to different schools and was able to become her own person away from my overbearing shadow.
When I went to college, she sent me loving letters with her drawings along with gifts of stickers or bookmarks. She got to visit during a couple summers and I tried hard to make up for the hyper-organized nonsense I had put her through for years; we spent a lot of time lying around my un-air-conditioned rooms watching TV, reading magazines, painting our nails, and drinking Clearly Canadian sparkling water like cool kids.
Whether she realized it or not, my baby sister has always helped me be a better person. Even though she usually went along with my admittedly occasionally ridiculous plans, I learned to rein in my controlling tendencies when she pointed out injustices.4 And while she didn’t meet every guy I liked or dated, the ones she did only got to stick around because of her approval - this is how I have my husband and our kids’ beloved guncle, still acceptable parts of our lives after 30+ years.
I’m forever grateful for my Michelle, an astute, discerning, funny, and thoroughly marvelous human. And I can only take a little bit of credit for all of that.
Since I was destined to become a teacher, many of those activities definitely involved reading, research, and worksheets. BUT, I also had hair & makeup sessions and planned really fun parties!
This was a bit of good luck for me: On one of those driving trips together, I flipped off & yelled at another driver then saw her watching me so I said to never do that, it was a bad thing. Later, when she was mad at me for something, I caught her swinging her hand as I turned away. When I asked what she’d done, she sheepishly held up her first finger. I hid my smile and sternly reminded her to not do it again or she would be in trouble. She might have been in high school before realizing I tricked her. #BadSister
To be clear, my sister & I are both introverted but I am more willing to engage with others at times, especially if personal benefits are on the line.
I still have a small copper pot that I always insisted on using for my Barbies’ decor, despite her pleas for a turn; I tried once to return it as penance but she graciously refused, so I later found a similar tiny vessel in an Amsterdam shop for her.
Damn I always wanted a sister, not just two dumb boys as older brothers. You’re lucky, and she seems lucky to have you, too.