Dear Readers,
When I was in junior high, I was introduced to a singer/songwriter named Juliana Hatfield. Although she's far from a musical genius, and was better known for singing backup for The Lemonheads than for her solo work, she did produce a song that still haunts me to this day: "My Sister". This song was meaningful to me because it did and it does represent my own sister, Andrea.
I am the middle of three sisters. Andrea is my older, and Kate is my younger. Despite our better judgement, we have grown up to be quite good friends. Of course, it took several years even as adults to admit this. Anyone who has known us our whole lives will know that we spent the better part of our youth in physical and mental brawls, always trying to make one more miserable than the other. But this blog isn't about the three of us. Per her request, this one is dedicated to Andrea (don't worry Kate, I'll write one for you soon enough).
When we were very young, my sister Andrea watched me when my mother was at work. Every day she would walk from Big Valley Elementary and pick me up at Memorial Elementary and we would walk to the Rupert Square, where my mom worked at First Security Bank. We would check in with her, get some change, and walk across the street to the bakery to get a mexican pastry. From there we would walk home, where the next two hours before my father got home were filled with screaming, fighting, and mild forms of torture.
Always quick to remind me that she was older and in charge, Andrea used her power over me to carry out her genius plans. Remember when we were held hostage on the freeway by a gaggle of angry truckers? That was Andrea's idea, carried out by yours truly. Once when playing "Police Sisters" (we would ride our bikes around our neighborhood making siren noises and protecting Rupert from evil), Andrea told me I wouldn't be an official police sister until I vandalized some freshly poured cement with our initials. I started to carry out the plan, when Andrea disappeared and the owner of said cement pulled up in his car, and took out all of his anger on me. Even after being screamed at and scared to death, Andrea still told me that because I didn't complete the mission to her liking, I would not be made an official Police Sister.
When I reached junior high, Andrea was in high school. I don't know why, but I was always attracted to her friends and wanted to be included in her group, particularly during her senior year when she had become a member of the Vincent Van Gough Memorial Visual Arts Club. Mind you, it was rare when any of her friends treated me remotely human, but none the less I was drawn to them and wanted to be a part of their clique. To this day I find myself intimidated by them and am still concerned of their opinions of me.
Around this same time, Andrea was planning on joining my dad on a trip to Europe. Surprisingly, her plans were never confirmed (we think my dad might have a secret agenda to keep us out of Europe as long as we live), and she was left with a handful of cash and no where to go. My mom arranged for us to go and visit my cousin Brent in Seattle as a way to appease her. Andrea was 16 and I was 13. Brent at the time was a bachelor who really didn't know how to handle two teenage girls, did what any sensible adult would do and dropped us off downtown by ourselves to explore and waste all of our money. It was AWESOME. Andrea and I enjoyed the freedom that we had, visiting all the hotspots together and going crazy in the Disney Store. When at Brent's house we found a lot of enjoyment in cleaning his kitchen, mulching his lawn, and watching stolen cable. That trip is still on my top 5 vacations of all time.
When Andrea graduated high school, she went off to spend a semester at Utah State University. She came home every weekend to visit her sweetheart Jeremy, except for one. On that one weekend, I got to go and spend it with her. It was one of the highlights of my sophomore year of high school. Sleeping in the dorms, meeting her cool college buddies, eating crap food and staying out all night...it was everything I had imagined college to be and more! On the ride home, Andrea let me drive the Omega (which only contained an AM stereo so we had a battery powered cd player that we held on our laps), and she read Edgar Allen Poe to me to entertain me. I went home with a firm plan in mind of what my first year of college would be like (and I was damn sure it wouldn't include coming home every weekend), and as far as I can remember I was able to carry it out ver bad-um.
We've shared many unique experiences with each other, from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins play at the Record Exchange to meeting John Maher backstage at his concert. We've said some really horrible things to each other. We've laughed, cried, swore, and cheered at each other's expense. But this I know is true: my life would be missing something great if I didn't have Andrea in it. I'm sure when she reads this, she'll be sure to comment on my writing style and point out any mistakes I made. But underneath the criticism and judgement will reside a thin layer of love and appreciation. As reluctant as she might be to say it, I know she loves me and is happy to have me for a sister. But it is something I'll admit willingly...I love you Andrea, and I'm happy to have you for a sister.
Sincerely,
h.
That is very sweet of you, Heather. The Seattle trip will always hit my top 5as well. We were so wise with our money. Remember Brent sent us to the grocery store alone in his car with his credit card? We could have done so much more damage to his account.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this tribute, I thoroughly enjoyed it. And you are correct, I do love you and am glad to have you as my friend.