My sister was born when I was eleven and a half — which means I spent eleven and a half formative years as an only child.
So I feel like I speak with authority when I say: given the choice, I would always, always, always choose sister.
I mean sure.
I used to swing her around in circles by her ankles when she was six months old.
And I pushed her around on the vacuum cleaner while she screamed bloody murder. (For years she had panic attacks whenever she heard that trademark hum. It was so bad we had to do the cleaning when she was out of the house. And until recently, they never knew why. Oops.)
I “accidentally” left her in the elevator of our high-rise apartment building when she could barely speak.
And I once left her in our house while I went to the store to get snacks … with my 13-year-old friend Veronica “babysitting” on speakerphone.
But that wasn’t sibling rivalry.
And it definitely didn’t mean I didn’t want her around.
All I was doing was testing her mettle.
Can ya hang, little sister?
Can ya hang?
Conclusion … YES.
She can hang.
(Oh MAN can she hang!)
And the truth is…
The best thing that ever happened to me was the day you were born.
Happy 20th birthday, Gena!!
I love you soooooooo much.
(Now uh, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…)