Siblings and Suction Cups

At 8:00 this morning, with Jared crouched under his freshly painted, gray, loft bed he and Barrett recently built, I adamantly stated, "She is your greatest ally, your best friend - whether you recognize it or not - and the one who has seen you at your worst, up close, and will see you to the end."  

She is his little sister.  

He looked up at me, his eyes sincere, and pushed his blonde hair out of his teenage face.  He and I were fresh off an argument as I dug to get to the bottom of the morning's poor behavior.  Apparently, he found sticking Leah's toothbrush out of reach to be comical, and then, to have even more fun, he teased her about not being tall enough to reach it, even with a stool underneath her tippy toes.  This was the fourth morning of this petty routine and Leah was now filled with a fierce rage, crying, and humiliated.  

"Well, it doesn't feel like we are best friends when she tells on me all the time."

My sympathy was very low.

My frustration, quite high.

Almost as high as the toothbrush.

"You are the ring leader, my friend.  You, the older sibling, are setting the tone for what transpires between you and her.  So, young man, you either lead the relationship with kindness or you lead with demeaning moments of humiliation like you did about eight-and-a-half minutes ago.  You are who decides whether the two of you are a team or competitive beasts beating your chests, seeing who can whoop louder and get mean faster."

He is a big brother.

I had just cycled twenty miles and this hangry, pre-coffee conversation was testing me and my own ability to extend grace and kindness. 

I cocked my head, sat down in his desk chair, and let out a deep sigh.  

I live one-thousand miles away from my sister, and I miss her, probably more than she realizes.

Growing up, my sister and I were like co-pilots, navigating the big, open sky with the other speaking into her ear, making suggestions, and trying to keep each other on course.  We fought, but we also held the bond of sisterhood tightly.  I actually missed her when I got my own room.  She was my person - at three, when she was born - and at eighteen, when I left in my 1991 white Oldsmobile, for college.    

As I thought about my own scars, memories, and lessons from childhood, I said, 

"Look at me, in the eyes."

He did.

"Me and your aunt Jackie did not always get along, trust me; however, I promise if you ask her whether I took my role as big sister seriously, she'd still say "yes" to this day;  I let her fall asleep and drool on my shoulder on long car rides while my fingers went numb; and when she chewed the plastic toes off my prized Barbie dolls, I still didn't even stick her toothbrush out of reach.  Honestly, we were quite the duo.  We operated as a stealth team, deciding together to blame broken dishes on the cats when the parents went on a date, or to cover for each other when all the Halloween candy suddenly went missing.  I probably shouldn't be saying this, but being friends with Leah would really have its advantages.  Your relationship with Leah is one of the most important gifts you'll ever be given."  

"She won't change."

"Maybe you need to change first." 

"How?  She'll keep telling on me."

I grabbed the new UCF sweatshirt Santa gave him for Christmas, already well worn and hanging off his bed post.  I pretended to rip it in half.  I looked at him and asked, "Now what?  How do I mend the torn sweatshirt?"  

I thought he'd say, "Duck tape," but to my surprise, my teenage boy was sincere.  

"I don't know, you sew it?" 

"Yes!  Quickly?" 

"Probably not." 

"Correct! A big, thick sweatshirt like this is going to take a while to mend.  You'll probably have to work at sewing it a little bit at a time, maybe a little bit each night until the last stitch is complete.  It won't look the same, but the time and effort will be worth it - because it's your favorite sweatshirt and you're not ready to let it go."  

"Ok, Mom, I get it."  

I continued.  "Leah is eight.  You are thirteen.  Be the kind of big brother she needs and that leaves you feeling good about who you are.  When me and Daddy are gone someday, she will be the one person who has seen it all, and she is the one journeying with you - on scooters, bikes, long car rides and boring family trips - as you both discover who you are and what gifts you have to offer the world.  Go easy, have some grace, and in the end, I truly hope you see how much she admires you."

As he left the room to go scooter with her (their before-school routine involving jumping curbs, wheelies, and driveway stunts), I hoped what I said meant something and even possibly soaked into his teenage brain - because just like the thick, comfy sweatshirts we grab on chilly days, our siblings can wrap us in understanding, grace, and a known love, through the longest nights and on the worst of days.   

Peace,

Annette