In the beginning, she was my big sister: three years older, a head taller, and—I knew even then—not like the rest of us. As I grew up, she became my little sister, whom I protected from mean boys, the neighbor’s heartless crow, and the word “retard.” She became literally littler, too: Today the fluffy top of her head barely grazes my shoulder, and I’m no giant myself.
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That was so good but so sad!
Thank you so much for this beautiful story. I, too, have such a big sister, and your story helped me realize what she has taught me about friendship, loyalty and loss.
Loved this story. Thanks for posting! Isn’t it magical how the same old jokes sustain us over the years, changing in tone as we mature. It’s not so much the content of the joke as the fact that it has been repeated so many times in different situations, and each of those previous repetitions leaves an echo every time the joke is repeated freshly.
And I love our sibs’ ability to throw back their heads and laugh as if they’re hearing the joke for the very first time, every time!