The Endearing Siblings of a Middle Child

My brother and my sister...I'm so fortunate to have siblings such as these two. Loving, supportive, understanding, thoughtful, silly as all get out...I hear of family feuds and bickering between family members and this makes me so thankful to know that my brother, sister and I care enough about each other's feelings and general wellbeing to be considerate to one another.

This is in adulthood, understand.

Things weren't always so lovely and sunshiney between the three of us...however I think we still did ok for our age gaps. Leslie is almost five years older than me, I am three years older than Allen, and that makes an eight year gap between Leslie and Allen. Chaos ensues. And, of course, that all makes me the dreaded middle child...which I am to the fullest I hear. Allen is certainly the baby and Leslie is no doubt the eldest. Funny how something like the order in which you were born can help mold who you are.

A typical summer day in the early '90s would look a little like this:

Allen attired in a flouncy little doll dress (it was a rather large doll) with a plastic barrette in his hair...pretending to be my little toddler daughter...ahh good times.

Leslie posted on the couch engrossed in the daytime soaps with snacks on the side, having double checked the lock on the front door to ensure the two brats didn't invade her territory.

And me. Most likely sporting a pair of cut off blue jean shorts, shirt optional, and either my brown cowboy boots or my shiny black church shoes, commandeering my brother's imagination with demands such as "I won't be your friend if you don't play right!" or convincing him of the existence of my doppelgänger who lived in the woods. Poor kid couldn't stand to be without the company of others, therefore he brazenly withstood every little indignity I could dish out. By the end of the summer day he would be off somewhere sucking his thumb as a means to alleviate trauma. I look back and love him dearly for admiring me even through all the torture. That's love. Or dependency. Either way, that took cajones.

Somehow we managed to forge a bond so strong that to this day if anyone mistreats my big little brother (who happens to outweigh me by about 150 lbs) I am fightin' mad and ready to hurt someone. I am extremely nonconfrontational, a lover not a fighter. Unless you mess with my Bubs. For him, I'm the person he goes to for advice, or the person he allows to chew him out while he actually listens to what I have to say. Because he knows I have his best interest at heart. I think I worry about him just as much if not more than his own mother. He cried the day I left the state to begin my married life. I don't mean a single tear. I mean sobbing, sniffling, agonizing bawling. Poor kid. I cried on his shoulder, and didn't want to let go. Wish I hadn't put him through that.

On to Leslie. This is my SISTER. I don't know how this came to be the word for this particular type of relationship, but it hits the spot. We shared a bedroom, one in which the floor rarely surfaced. I looked up to her, and I'm fairly sure I was a brat kid sister to her. We had our moments, singing with hair brushes, staying up late in our room with hushed voices, I remember her little stereo loaded with Garth Brooks, Chris Ledoux or New Kids On The Block cassette tapes. I remember trying to traslate a song from the Heavenly Highway hymnal into Spanish for a trip to Del Rio, Texas. In the summertime, trekking down the road back in the woods to wade Bad Luck Creek. I recall thinking of "the old house" as a sanctuary when she remained there after Daddy moved away. Stealing away up the driveway to watch movies, eat some Sloppy Joe electric skillet concoction...being entrusted with secrets that were not to reach Mom's ears. She made me feel like more than just a kid. I felt like a peer. Nevermind the nearly five-year span between us, Leslie made me feel like I was not only her little sister, but also a friend. I guess when you are friends with your sister, that's when that word, "sister," takes on a whole new depth...becomes a truly appropriate term for that special relationship. More than even your closest girlfriend. There's just another unexplainable degree to it. Sister.

We've been there for eachother and it's those moments that I cherish and keep close to my heart concerning my sister. When she was going into early labor with her first son...how scared we were, in her hospital room, the two of us crying...trying to find solace in eachother. Once the baby was born and whisked away to Children's, there she and I were, at Baptist, where she was recovering from her C-section. She might want to strangle me for saying this, but I'll run the risk to say that I shaved my sister's legs that night. There wasn't a lot I could do for her, to ease her worry over her baby, or to make her more comfortable, but one thing I could do was shave her legs for her when she couldn't possibly have done it on her own. That is truly a sister moment. :)

When I returned to Arkansas during my divorce, Leslie was there for me in a big way...trying to keep me busy and my mind distracted, staying up late to man-bash. She made me feel better just by the look in her eye as she spoke of her opinion of my soon-to-be exhusband. That fierce sense of protection that only siblings can share for eachother.

Sure, your friends warrant the same thing...but sisters and brothers, blood, they take the proverbial cake.