Skip to main content

The Sister I Choose

Blood may be thicker than water for some, but not for me.

Don’t misunderstand. My family is incredibly important to me. We are a hodgepodge of steps, half’s and even some full-blood relations. And while I love them all, the person that knows me best is not a family member.

Becca is my memory keeper, confidante and sounding board. We met as wary six and eight-year olds after a 25 meter backstroke race. My third place finish surprised Becca, the winner and year-round swimmer.

 

She sauntered up and said, “You’re pretty good.”

Me: “You’re pretty good, too.”

Becca: “You wanna come over and play?”

Me: “Yeah, but I gotta ask my mom.”

And that was the birth of our sisterhood.


We spent hours in her dad’s workshop inventing household items. (Who wouldn’t want a sign for the dishwasher that stated “clean” or “dirty?”) Our makeshift haunted house in her basement nearly torched the house. The Halloween costumes that left paint in my dad’s new Oldsmobile. She taught me how to shave my legs, smoke a cigarette and set me up with college guys when I was still in high school. Becca single-handedly increased my coolness factor.

She remembers and celebrates my mother, reminds me of bad dates I would choose to forget and is my voice of reason when I overreact. Without our daily conversations, something feels amiss.  And our significant others should be grateful, as it relieves them from having to listen to every, single detail of our day.

Maybe I didn’t choose Becca. Maybe something bigger just knew I needed a sister like her. Either way, I’m lucky.

Happy 38th birthday, Becca Jane.

Comments

  1. BeccaJuly 11, 2009 at 7:38 PM

    I would like to say that this is your best blog entry EVER, but I can't read it through my tears. I guess the only thing I can say to your compliments and ego strokes is, "Hey, wanna come over to my house and break a few rocks in my parent's rock garden? My mom makes a really good Coke slushee, and her chocolate surprise cupcakes are out-of-this world."
    Love, your sister friend

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Zack, the Smiths and a Gift Card

I’ve lived in my house for three years. Apparently, some guy named Zack has also lived in my house for the past year. Or at least Bill and Annie Smith (not their real names) in Overland Park, Kansas think he lives at my address. They send him a lot of cards – thank you notes, just for fun cards and yesterday, I received Zack’s birthday card. Obviously for me to know what kind of cards they send, I open them. The first time I received one, I “Returned to Sender,” but not since then. They keep on coming and I keep on opening them. It’s like reality TV, but through the mail. I’m not proud of my actions and suspect it’s illegal for me to keep opening Zack’s mail. But now I’m genuinely interested in how he’s doing. Zack got a new job last fall (Attaboy card), gave the Smiths Big 12 Tournament tickets (thank you note), and he had a birthday this week. Until yesterday, there was nothing of value in the cards besides sweet sentiment. But in the birthday card there was a Pla...
2 comments
Read more

The Softride Has Left The Building

Today I bid adieu to my first triathlon bike – a Softride Rocket TT named Sally. (“Ride, Sally, Ride...”) While technically still mine until the ebay auction ends tomorrow, she has been dropped off at the bike store for clean up and packing. We’ll ship her off to the new owner this weekend and that will be the end of my beam bike era. A Softride is considered old school in the triathlon world and is mocked mercilessly by roadies. Sally has a carbon beam, no down tube and 650 wheels – basically the low-rider Cadillac of bikes. While it doesn’t have a stiff suspension or a brag-worthy weight, it has one thing – comfort. This is something I desperately needed when training for my first Ironman. Sally raced at Kona in 2001 and Wisconsin in 2003. She was dependable and attention-getting. Like riding a motorcycle, Softride enthusiasts also offered the casual hand wave when you encountered another one on the road. However, there are fewer out there these days. The Softride...
2 comments
Read more

Adding Some Color

I distinctly remember my first encounter with food coloring. It was love at first chemical-laden sight. Mom and I were icing sugar cookies. We'd made a bowl of white icing. Then she broke out the food coloring. I was memorized by the bright colors and giddy at the thought of mixing them. Like most six year olds, I believed more was better. So the icing started a lovely pink after a few drops of red. Next came lavender with some blue. Then Mom turned her back just long enough for me to reenact the movie Cocktail with food coloring. Every color was going in and hell with a few drops, more is better. This is fantastic, I thought, as I created a rainbow in the bowl. I stirred with glee until I realized the rainbow was disappearing. The icing was turning a disgusting shade of gray-brown. This was terrible. No one wants to eat icing that looks like poop. So you're thinking, nice little story Jen. Way to point out that more isn't necessarily better. But that's actually n...
2 comments
Read more