Mom was pregnant with my baby sister in 1985. I was a mere 3 years old, but still aware that I would soon be playing the important role of Oldest. Big Sister. The More Mature One. The Favorite. And according to my mother, I wanted to exercise my new responsibilities by choosing the baby's name.
"Mom," I asked, "when the baby is born can we name her Rudy?" You see, much like everyone else who was living and breathing in 1985, The Cosby Show was my favorite.
"No, honey," she explained. "I'm not sure that name fits."
"Then what about Trudy?" nice rhyming skills, younger self!
"No, I don't think Trudy will work either."
"Okay..." I pondered for a moment. "If she's black can we name her Rudy?" Fair compromise, I thought.
Mom came back with, "If she comes out black, we'll have to find a new place to live because your dad will kick us out!"
My mom, as it turned out, had remained faithful, and my sister came out white. We also got to stay in the house. But wouldn't that have been a fun surprise?
My devout readers are aware that I recently took a trip to NYC with my sister. I posted about our adventures in sightseeing and our whirlwind 3 day tour of the city, but I failed to say anything about our quality time spent together as sisters. Mostly I figured y'all wouldn't want to read all the mushy gushy stuff I have to say about her. It's also very difficult to write about someone I've known my whole life, someone with whom I'm so close, and someone so similar to myself. She's just "sister" to me, and if you have a sister of your own, then you know how I feel about her. Of course, I love her! I admire her ability to take on anything and kick its ass. Her desire to always do the right thing, even if she doesn't agree with it 100%.
When we were kids playing Barbies, making up silly dances and almost killing each other over the last Capri Sun, it didn't occur to me that she'd one day be living in a different city with a Big Girl Job, 2 cats and a driving a responsible Toyota Camry. I mean, who moves away from home? Why would anyone do that? Sister did. Because she's fearless.
When sister was in 8th grade she got the most horrid haircut of all time. No, seriously. It was. (I'll spare you the pictures.) As if 8th grade weren't awkward enough, here she is walking the halls with a gnawed up mop on her head! Two years later she was on homecoming court as one of the most beautiful girls in the school. She never lets anyone keep her down.
Just recently, I told someone that my sister "...is a lot like me, except more tender hearted. She's like a nicer, more compassionate version of me. A little taller, blonder hair and a better butt." But don't mess with her or she'll whoop up on you with a wooden necklace or a butcher knife...or maybe just her bare hands.
"Mom," I asked, "when the baby is born can we name her Rudy?" You see, much like everyone else who was living and breathing in 1985, The Cosby Show was my favorite.
"No, honey," she explained. "I'm not sure that name fits."
"Then what about Trudy?" nice rhyming skills, younger self!
"No, I don't think Trudy will work either."
"Okay..." I pondered for a moment. "If she's black can we name her Rudy?" Fair compromise, I thought.
Mom came back with, "If she comes out black, we'll have to find a new place to live because your dad will kick us out!"
My mom, as it turned out, had remained faithful, and my sister came out white. We also got to stay in the house. But wouldn't that have been a fun surprise?
My devout readers are aware that I recently took a trip to NYC with my sister. I posted about our adventures in sightseeing and our whirlwind 3 day tour of the city, but I failed to say anything about our quality time spent together as sisters. Mostly I figured y'all wouldn't want to read all the mushy gushy stuff I have to say about her. It's also very difficult to write about someone I've known my whole life, someone with whom I'm so close, and someone so similar to myself. She's just "sister" to me, and if you have a sister of your own, then you know how I feel about her. Of course, I love her! I admire her ability to take on anything and kick its ass. Her desire to always do the right thing, even if she doesn't agree with it 100%.
When we were kids playing Barbies, making up silly dances and almost killing each other over the last Capri Sun, it didn't occur to me that she'd one day be living in a different city with a Big Girl Job, 2 cats and a driving a responsible Toyota Camry. I mean, who moves away from home? Why would anyone do that? Sister did. Because she's fearless.
When sister was in 8th grade she got the most horrid haircut of all time. No, seriously. It was. (I'll spare you the pictures.) As if 8th grade weren't awkward enough, here she is walking the halls with a gnawed up mop on her head! Two years later she was on homecoming court as one of the most beautiful girls in the school. She never lets anyone keep her down.
Just recently, I told someone that my sister "...is a lot like me, except more tender hearted. She's like a nicer, more compassionate version of me. A little taller, blonder hair and a better butt." But don't mess with her or she'll whoop up on you with a wooden necklace or a butcher knife...or maybe just her bare hands.
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