Today my sister is 32. She was a bicentennial baby. I remember well when she came to live with us. She was hardly impressive at first, just stealing Mom's lap and attention, but over time that all changed. We became friends.
When she was born, I was just going to kindergarten. Soon after, I would learn to read and read books to her all the time. We would take our evening bath together at night and she would laugh at my splashing silliness. So many pictures snapped over the next years would capture her beaming face, squished in the crook of my arm or squeezed in a sideways hug. On Saturday mornings, we could be found making graham crackers with peanut butter for breakfast and trying to avoid waking our parents as we would sneak down to watch our favorite Saturday morning cartoons. (Anyone remember Fred and Barney Meet the Schmoo?)
She would always be up for my games and shenanigans. She was a captive audience when I wanted to sing, dance or put on a show. Then, she would become the best at putting on shows ever, far surpassing her less theatrically-inclined sister! She and I would seek out fun wherever we went, swimming in the Lake, sliding down the stairs on a crib mattress, playing with Dad's microphones, destroying the house with "Mandy and Jenny" and their escapades. She was the best gift my parents ever gave me!
So, this weekend as we celebrated her birthday with a big karaoke bash, I watched with pride as she put on a show for us. As she had done for me, so many times before. I was proud. She was gorgeous and talented and it was wonderful.
We were sisters before we were friends, but friends we are and friends we will always be. Happy Birthday, Sissy!