I’ve always wanted an older sister. She’d be a gentle spirit, someone compassionate and easy to talk to. We’d stay up late laughing and giggling about the silliest things. On my worst days, I’d sit down and talk about it, and she’d always listen. All the time she’d love me and care about me, and we would laugh and cry together like best friends.
It’s different having a younger sister–not worse, but different. It’s a very different experience mixed with different struggles and joys, just like how it is having an older brother. I’m always trying to reach out to my little sister and guide her through her middle school years (like warning her of the perils of dating teenage boys). We’re close enough in age that we can be great friends, but I know she looks up to me.
But what about when I need a big sister, a person old enough to give me advice, but young enough to understand me and not try to tell me what to do? Through the years, I’ve created “older sisters” for myself–imaginary friends, story characters, and even natural things like trees and streams. These things, however, never suffice for a real person. At the end of the day, any conversations we could have will be only in my head, only figments of my imagination. Trees and story characters will never be able to give me hugs when I’m sad, and they’ll never be able to laugh with me, cry with me, and simply be there for me.
This subject crosses my mind because I am just a week away from entering high school, a time full of new decisions, new responsibilities, and new everything, pretty much. Wouldn’t an older sister be so nice right about now?
But hey, I’ve made it fourteen years, and I’m pretty okay with life right now. I’ll make it through for sure, don’t worry.