She has known me my WHOLE life. That gives a person a unique perspective on your life, you know. When I was young she took good care of me, feeding me, and using me as her personal baby doll, we spent all our time together. I must admit I wonder now sometimes was she GLAD to have me around, or did she see me as an intrusion into her world? She had been the only child for a good long while, having all of mom and dad’s attention. When I grew old enough to remember , I remember being a pain. I remember us being total opposites. She was very girly, very into her Barbies, and her ballet , she was very graceful , and I was very clumsy. I was such a tomboy, wearing my clompy tomboy boots everywhere. My sister was above all things clean, extremely clean. Obsessively clean. I however was not. I was dirty. I had a horse, a pig, and chickens. I helped my Grandpa farm. Dirt followed me wherever I went. I remember thinking my sister was the most fashionable , beautiful , graceful person on the planet. All the boys wanted to date her. I remember thinking my sister hated me, and wished I would go and live anywhere but near her. Why did I have to be HER sister? I followed my Daddy everywhere, dressed like a boy until I was 14, worked and welded on old cars, went around like an grease monkey, worked for my Grandpa who was a truck patch farmer, learned to drive a tractor, and basically was the opposite of anything girly and graceful. I used to be so jealous, she got all the attention, she was so smart, and had the beautiful red hair, and was just naturally beautiful. I didn’t know how to change. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to either. I wasn’t even sure I was supposed to. Flash forward 5 years. My sister got me a job , working in the same restaurant that she was. I realized you had to clean up to work there. And that was okay. I also realized, I must not be that bad looking. Boys started to look at me. I started to get attention. And surprise, surprise! Boys LIKED a girl who knew which end of an engine was up. And which part of the horse to throw the bridle on. Some boys liked black hair just as well as red, and they found clumsiness kind of cute. They didn’t mind if you wanted to get dirty on the weekends working on an old tractor. So my sister helped me find my way with boys, but I never knew if she meant to do that? Sometimes I am still jealous of her, she is still so graceful , and of course fashionable, and of course still has her flaming red hair. I wonder sometimes does she still feel embarrassed to call me her sister, because sometimes I am still that “bit of a pain” , grubby , tomboy, grease monkey little sister? Does she wish still sometimes , that I would go and live anywhere but near her? But then I think, no, I know, she is my sister, and she is glad to have me now, grubby boots and all.
Published by the ruby faerie
I'm a bibliophile, poet, mother of two , and unashamed kook magnet. I love writing, art, and learning new things every day. Life is the greatest school of all, and although I have a severe life-threatening illness, I refuse to let it steal my smile. View all posts by the ruby faerie