sissy 

Someone recently, upon seeing my sister and I together, commented that we look nothing alike. It reminded me of this post I wrote last year about my sissy, so I thought I’d repost it for those of you who didn’t read it then.

  

Ever see a picture of yourself and at first you’re absolutely convinced that it’s someone else in your family? I was going through some photos from our trip to Pennsylvania this past winter and I came across this shot of me in my pj’s sipping coffee and eating delicious pumpkin pancakes at one of my BFF’s house. But before I remembered all that, I just stared at it thinking, “Where did this picture of my sister come from?!” It looks exactly like her. Maybe it’s because my hair is straight in the photo and she often wears hers that way, perhaps it’s the coke bottle glasses due to our inherited awful eyesight, or it could be the raised eyebrows, a signature move of her’s. But nonetheless, for a second I would’ve bet money it was my big sis. 

Not that this would be a bad thing. She’s pretty easy on the eyes; with a much better hairline than mine, high cheekbones, and a waistline that never changes. But that’s just the outside stuff. Due to a bit of a tough exterior, the insides are harder to get to but it’s pretty worthwhile when you do. She is sweet and kind yet inherently cynical, she always makes you laugh, and she takes a little gasp of air every time she begins to speak or especially sing. That last one wasn’t really a personality trait but it’s cute. When we were little she taught me how to tie my shoes and I, in turn, always went up to the counter at Wendy’s to ask for extra bbq sauce for her chicken nuggets because she was too shy. She never wanted me to hug her when she cried and she could hang with the boys like the best of them. She has a nervous little laugh and an affinity for gardening. 

We don’t get to see each other often and we’re not very good about staying in touch (which I wish were different), but we’re always able to pick up where we left off. I’ll never forget when she got too old to take baths with her baby sister or when we slept in her bedroom for the very last time the night before her wedding. She’s generous with her love and has opened her home to many a wayward child. I think she’s still mad at me for moving to Florida even though it’s been almost 10 years, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised since I’m pretty sure she’s still holding a grudge about me drawing a bikini (and also chicken pox?) in blue ink on her favorite baby doll, Baby Lou, when I was six! She has dimples in her cheeks when she smiles and a walk that makes you want to shout things behind her like, “You got a porch for that swing?” or, “You want fries with that shake?” She is a talented seamstress and makes one mean latte. Despite being very different in many ways, we share a love of shopping at Target, sarcasm, Gilmore Girls, and dark haired Italian men with a “J” name. She despises onions and used to, when eating dinner together as a family years ago, put her fork down in disappointment upon finding a piece of onion, look at my mother and say, “Do you hate me?” I still chuckle thinking about it. We don’t say it often enough so I’ll let Jo March from Little Women say it for me, “I could never love anyone as I love my sister.” 

   

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