Today is my little sister’s birthday and I just found out that she’s 30, which seems much too old for a little sister, especially this one. Katherine, as far as I’m concerned, will always be 10-years-old, with wild hair and chubby cheeks, looking up at me with what can only be described as wonder and awe. Unless you want to describe it as fear and disgust. It seems I had a habit of tormenting her as a child. Nothing violent, mind you, just subtle things I would do to disturb her otherwise peaceful times with her Barbie Dream House or her Care Bears. There is the distinct possibility that I am responsible for at least some of her neuroses, but I prefer to think those are someone else’s fault, though I’m not sure whose.
I remember when she was born and how exciting it was to have another little sister in the house and the first baby I would remember. I was six-years-old when she showed up and her chunkiness then was no end of amusement. She was a good kid. She moved to Florida with our parents and grew up with lots of friends on the white sand beaches of the Gulf Coast into a smart, beautiful, fun-loving young woman. She married a good man and, this year, will become a mother for the first time to her very own daughter. We’re all very excited and couldn’t be more proud of her. Katherine’s first 29 years have been exemplary, except the thing with the teeth when she was a kid … and the thumbs, of course.
I miss being around her on a regular basis, but we do stay in near-constant communication, keeping tabs on each other’s lives. She’s a wonderful aunt to The Quartet, a good daughter, and great sister to her three brothers and one sister. I look forward to her next 30, watching her family grow and seeing how she handles the next phase of her life, which I’m sure she’ll do with as much laughter, care and compulsiveness as she does everything else.
Happy birthday, Katherine. I love you.