No one understands you like a sister

By Jill C. Hindman
November 8, 2001

She is about three inches taller than me, but when she wears her knee-high boots she is almost six inches taller.

She has cascading long, brown hair with blonde highlights woven throughout. When she walks into a room her presence is felt without her saying a word.

My sister, Marjorie, “Moe” for short, is two and a half years younger than me. Many times I am mistaken as the little sister because next to her I am a shorty. Her name is perfect for her personality because both are unique.

When I think of my childhood, she is what I think of. We would play for hours together. We would giggle and fight and pull each other’s hair and giggle some more. Whenever we went to a party, or anywhere at all, it didn’t matter because I always had a friend there, my best friend.

When we were little we had bunk beds. I slept on the top and she on the bottom. Every night I would hang my hand down off the top bunk and let it dangle until her little hand met mine. We would sleep holding hands thinking that if one of us was ever going to be kidnapped in our sleep the other one would have to go to. Needless to say, we did not lack imagination.

Then of course we went through the if-you-look-at-me-even-one-more-time-I’m-gonna-kill-you stage. When we thought being in the same room together was the ultimate torture. We would annoy each other so much that it was ridiculous. God bless my mom raising her two teenage daughters. Can we say catfight?

As we grew up, she was the more outspoken one, I was more reserved. She was more eccentric in her style, to her I was preppy.

She always said that she thought that it was so funny that I wear baseball hats and sweaters. She is always dressed up like the girls on soap operas, very trendy, even if they are going food shopping. I on the other hand I am perfectly fine in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Now that we are grown up I can see her in me and me in her. We reflect one another in so many aspects. We handle situations similarly. I have become more outspoken and she will wear sweatpants in public. We molded ourselves together without even realizing it.

No matter what, your sister is always there. She always has been and she always will be. If everyone else lets you down she will always be there to understand. The friendship that you share with her is like no other. No one understands you like a sister.

No one else knows when to leave you alone or when to hug you. No one else can scream at you for no reason at all and in the same breath have the guts to ask to borrow your favorite shirt.

Being the younger sister, I’m sure, was not always a walk in the park. She always did everything second, which probably seemed less glamorous for her. Whenever I hear the song “The Wind Beneath My Wings,” by Bette Midler, the first line always makes me think of her. “It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have some light shine on your face,” which is what it must feel like to be the younger of two, but what I think she did not realize was that all of the things that I have accomplished in my life I could not have done without her by my side.

Marjorie has just begun her freshman year of college and my last year will soon end. It is so strange to communicate through email and by telephone with the one that who at one point in your life you could not sleep if her hand was not interlocked with yours.

It all happened without me even realizing it. When did we stop being little girls with ringlets in our hair and become young women?

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Jill C. Hindman

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