When I was 14, I had my first real boyfriend. I was a freshman in High School and he was a sophomore. We talked on the phone every night, a toll call (gasp!), and I wore his class ring, wrapped in string so that it wouldn’t fall off, on my right index finger. We only “went out” for a few months, but he was my first love, and when he broke up with me, and asked for his ring back, I was devastated. I never showed it at school, of course, but I cried at home every night for weeks. I didn’t want to eat, and although my mother knew why, and she said she was sorry about it, she also said that it was “puppy love,” and that I would get it over it. She didn’t mean to be unkind, she just didn’t know how much I was hurting, and as my parents long marriage met its demise a short time later, she really had “bigger fish to fry.” I remember feeling that no one understood, that no one had ever felt this way. But my oldest sister did, and she told me so when she came for a visit a short time later. She was 24 at the time, and well beyond the “puppy love” stage, but she didn’t dismiss my pain, and she didn’t ignore it, She told me that she knew exactly how I felt, that no matter what anyone said, your first love is one of the strongest you will ever feel, and that although it would be difficult to believe, it would get better eventually. She had such compassion and kindness, that I believed her, as I always had, and she was right, as she always is.
I am the youngest of four girls, my oldest sister is ten years older than me. She was the first sister to hold me when I was a newborn right out of the hospital, and the last sister I texted while writing this, to clarify some facts. I’ve sought her counsel for many, many things over the years, and not just because she works at Princeton, graduated summa cum laude from Wellesley, and is just one of those people who you can never, ever stump no matter the question. She was my “google” way before the real google, and she’s the one we all vie for when we play a rousing family game of trivial pursuit. She’s also the one who promptly answers, when I text doozies like, “should I put quotations around a thought?” (however, please, please do not attribute any editing flaws to her, they are mine alone as I hate to keep asking her silly comma questions!!!), “who won Survivor Africa?”, and “why do the Brits not use ‘the’ before words like, hospital, university, and holiday?” She knows everything I want to know and so much more, and yet she asks me things too.
After her first child was born, she called me and asked me for some advice. I no longer remember what she asked, but how clearly I remember how that felt. I was a teen mom, and at that time, my daughter was two, and I was struggling with vivid dreams of my High School classmates all jumping into a pool, while I looked on, unprepared and too afraid to take the leap. Even then, I knew that those anxiety dreams were not about swimming; they were about feeling left behind as a young mom making minimum wage while my friends went to college, which felt about as far away as the moon. The fact that my brilliant sister needed parenting advice from me bolstered my then sagging spirit.
Siblings give gifts to each other, without realizing it. These gifts are unbidden and develop over time. They are unwrapped slowly through the years, and last a lifetime. Some give patience, some tolerance, or acceptance and some give jealousy and pain. As the youngest, I received many gifts from my sisters; the one I received from my oldest sister was confidence. My thoughts, opinions and beliefs have always mattered to her, even though I am a generation younger. The age difference doesn’t matter so much now, but when you are 12, and your 22 year-old sibling has conversations with you like you are her intellectual equal, you grow up feeling like your thoughts matter, which is how the seeds of self-assurance are sown. She told me told me I could be the first woman President, or write a book, and because she was so smart I believed her; although I no longer want the former, the latter? Yeah, I kinda do.
A nature and nurture counterpart of sorts, siblings are the closest DNA match possible and have lived through most of the same home experiences. They “get” you in a way no one else can, even your spouse. A lifetime of inside jokes, movie quotes, fond and some not so fond memories are what we as sisters share. My sister and I lived in the same household together for only about eight years, but the gifts she gave me have lasted a lifetime. I’m so grateful for the big sister she is.
