What it Means to be a Sister

Being a sister is quite the adventure. I say this for the many times I've almost been traumatically amputated.

Despite this, I've got a definite soft spot for the two little munchkins I'm so blessed to call my sisters. As the oldest, I basically have this certificate that permits me to mess you up if you even think about hurting one of my little angels (though blackmail is much more classy, honestly). I couldn't imagine life without these girls; they're so eccentric, supportive, energizing, slightly insane, uplifting, and made of every little thing that lights up my life.

There's Jackie, who's the responsible (*cough* bossy) middle child, and she's about as goofy and tenderhearted as they come, but when it boils down to it she's one of the toughest people I know. She doesn't take crap from anyone, especially those who pick on the underdog (especially if that underdog actually IS a dog). Jackie knows exactly what she wants in life, or rather, wants to do for others in life, and is wholly unabashed in her pursuit to serve that purpose. Then there's Olivia-- bubbly, loud, sparkling with enthusiasm, optimistic, driven, studious, and intelligent. She always puts 100% effort into her life, be it in gymnastics, school, or improv comedy performances at home, and her motto is "Don't practice until you get it right, practice until you can't get it wrong." I'm so proud of both of them. They're unique, beautiful, and spirited; and they teach me far more than I do them. I thought it would be opposite, when I became a big sister. I thought I'd be doing the instructing, and I was wrong.

Instead, I gained a motto; "Ohana means family. Family means whoop anyone who hurts 'em."

My sisters really do care for me. I remember one time I was in some bizarre emotional state and started breaking down into sobs over the fact that no one had ever brought me flowers. No sooner had my sisters heard this than they dashed out of the room and returned with an impromptu bouquet of irises and wild mustard. They may actually be angels, and now I'm on a mission to prove it :P

That's not to say there isn't dissension. Oh no, believe me, there's a lot of it. About half of my arguments with Olivia are, regrettably, very petty. The most notable of which was about eggs (long story). Another time, Jackie gave me a Christmas card, no gift accompanying it, the only inscription being a lengthy explanation of "You owe me ten dollars". Merry Christmas to you too, Jackie!

Ah, lovely memories.

They've given me a fair share of scares, too, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of them qualify for inclusion in the "Dumb Ways to Die" song. Jackie put an arcade token in her mouth and choked on it while jumping up and down on the bed. Olivia nearly hung herself in the drapery. Then there was the time Jackie wanted to play lifeguard and Olivia, God bless her, actually experienced a not-so-fun episode of unfairly realistic drowning. her commitment to the game was fierce. Gotta love 'em.

I've always watched from a distance as they did everything together. I grew up and became a loner far too quickly. There was only room for two in playing Mommy and Baby, or Kitty and Owner. Jackie was the mothering type, and Olivia loved being (s)mothered (in affection). It just worked out like that. I was to be mature and responsible, an aptitude for which Jackie seemed by far more fitting. I often felt shut off from them, loving them but never really quite there. I was the kind of sister who would take you out for ice cream only to be shooed to another table, or call "Dance party in my room!" and have no one show up.

No, this isn't a pity party. I'm about to tell you why I finally realized this is my fault. Though I tried to be a loving sister, I was also a hot and cold sister. One minute I'd be pushing everyone out of my room for "invading my space", and the next I'd just expect them to flock back in for some quality time. You can imagine why it seemed like they favored each other. In reality, it was me shifting between two extremes of "You always get me in trouble, leave me alone!" and "Hey sweetheart, I bought you this necklace!" Yes, sometimes, I will admit, I have been deliberately mean. I have been frustrated, tired, vengeful, moody, snappy; all of the above. And because of this, my own actions, I have spent so much time on the outs.

I still do remain there, because there are memories I can't make up for so easily.

It's a difficult thing, changing who you have been. Oftentimes it doesn't come as easily as just giving an apology. I know that in my past jealousy over parental affections, I very much damaged my relationship with Olivia. I can't forgive myself for the hurt I caused a little child who just wanted her big sister to care for her, like I should have. If I can't forgive me, how can she?

Another failure on my part was a lack of understanding for the love languages. Olivia is a strong Words of Affirmation, Jackie is first and foremost Quality Time followed by "buying a puppy". I thought that if I bought them trinkets and made some snacks that they would feel unconditionally loved, even if I got snappy or wanted my space. I didn't understand just how unloving it was to set up treats for the tea party but wander off to my room instead of dining with the stuffed animals and my little sisters. I should never have believed in the phrase, "I'm too old for this", or another even worse one, "This isn't worth my time".

Oh, believe me. When you look back on these moments you'll regret every second of not living them, realizing just how precious and worth it they were all along. Those times are always worth it-- I don't care if your quasi-boyfriend is on the phone or you're missing the beginning of your favorite TV show or whatever else you've convinced yourself takes priority; sit down and have tea with the five-year-old who is looking up at you with adoring eyes and calling you "sithy" though gaping front teeth. Those are the things truly worth remembering.

Things changed about two years back. It took me several miserable months of a head-spinning paradigm shift, but I got my act together. The big point I don't want you to miss is this: It's okay to get angry. It's not okay to hurt people because of it, especially those who love you most. The Bible says this: "In your anger, do not sin" (Eph 4:26); "A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control" (Prov 29:11). Buddha says, "You will not be punished for your anger, but you will be punished by your anger." Mark Twain (Yes I know, he's not the patriarch of a religion) said, "Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."

It seems that every major spiritual and philosophical feature, these used as examples, deals at least in some part to the nature of anger. It's a struggle common to all of humanity, which is of course no surprise to anyone who's looked at the news for two minutes. Everyone's prone to some moments of giant rage. The important thing is knowing how to take deep breaths, several if you have to, and look on with love.

I'm not that kind of sister anymore who's something to be afraid of. I've built my strengths and broken down my weaknesses, an ongoing process which will be worthwhile but always open to more renovation. Now I'm the kind of sister who cooks Mac n' Cheese, brings home flowers, protects her little angels with the full-grown fury of a Mama Bear, listens to stories, carves out time to help with homework, and (hopefully) holds her tongue a little more.

That's what it means to be the oldest sister. It means having the blessing of a family that refines you into the best version of yourself that you can possibly be.

(Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Mac n' cheese to make.)