NORMAN — It’s not something I asked for in life, but it’s something I’ve had to cope with and at times it’s been thrilling and other times it’s been a long hard road to travel. Ever since I was born, I’ve been someone’s little sister.
My brother is about five years older than me. He’s always said that the first five years of his life were amazing, and then I had to come along.
Truth be told, I didn’t make being a little sister easy for my brother. I always thought he had better stuff so while he was in school, his room became my playground. My mother always warned me that if I got caught, there would be lots of repercussions. But, at the tender age of four I would throw caution to the wind and play in the treasure cove of Hot Wheels, electronic games, comic books and one Stretch Armstrong. I’m here to testify that Stretch always lived up to his name under my tugging and pulling. And, luckily, he never snapped under the pressure of a preschooler.
Of course, I would usually leave evidence behind of my day of room crashing. A blanket. A shoe. A stuffed animal. And, as usual, mom was right and there were harsh big brother paybacks.
As a little sister, I perfected my pestering, too. There wasn’t anything I wasn’t willing to try in order to get my brother’s blood boiling. My personal favorite was making rude noises in the grocery store. You know, in public. Where there might be someone he knew. Obscene noises, well that’s just teenage kryptonite.
My brother, who has always towered over me at least a foot or two, didn’t take all of my little sister antics lightly. There were many a poster on his door that read “No girls allowed.” Since I was the only girl besides mom and a dachshund named Doxie in the house, I figured that meant me. There were times I was pushed. A few Barbie dolls fell victim, too. And it wasn’t uncommon for me to be sat on a few times.