My sister and I are very close, and we are very different. Yet I have to admit that it took me a while to realize that. For a long time, I had her firmly cast as the little girl that saw me wearing glasses and just had to have an accessory of her own, so she popped out the lenses of her heart sunglasses. Well, fast forward to our college years, and my sister and I were camp counselors. I did a double, triple, (probably) quadruple take when she announced that she was going to room with another girl down the hall as opposed to living with me. I distinctly remember putting on a brave face and laughing it off. Inside, I was gutted. She’s my sister. Why wouldn’t she want me? I took it as such a personal affront.
Later on that summer, I was out with a friend and we’d gotten into a disagreement. Who knows what it was about, but I do remember crying about it in the car. Lacy hadn’t been out with us that night, but she took one look at my face when we got home and sprang into action. She pulled my friend aside and she read him the riot act. “That is my sister.” Now, I’ve never had any doubt that my sister loves me, nor have I ever doubted that she wouldn’t act exactly as she did that night. Yet it did open my eyes to the notion that I had been holding on to the little kid version of our childhood so intensely rather than allowing her to become my friend, my equal, and that’s why she had desired that space. Sisterhood bounded by history is great, but sisterhood bounded by chosen friendship is even more superior.
Well, today, my sister becomes a bride, and if I haven’t made it clear enough, sisterhood brings a whole bevvy of emotions. I’m sure that I will be feeling all of them when I give my speech tonight. Wish me luck! Oh, and here are a few sister stories that keep it just as real as I’ve tried to… with a bonus fifth title!!