There are many first memories I have with my sister. A majority of them are from when I was five years old or younger. They are snippets of experiences that, looking back, I now realize represent the foundation of our relationship. The times I'd fall asleep with her reading me books in our parents' bed. When we play hide and seek and she'd always let me find her first. How she would reassure me when I got scared. In short, the overarching theme of our relationship then, and now, has been care. Leigh has always taken care of me, cared for me, in a sisterly-maternal way that is instinctual. It is a quality that makes her career as a childcare worker a natural fit. And made her a far better big sister than I am sure I ever deserved.
Leigh was four years old when I came along. Since my parents didn't have more children after me, I don't know what having a younger sibling is like. What did she think when I came onto the scene? To be honest I have never asked her that specific question. Maybe I should. I guess growing up I always assumed she was happy to have a baby sis. But my adult-self thinks that is probably not the case. I wouldn't blame her for feeling that way. Kids have so little control over their lives, and I'm sure my parents didn't consult her on their family planning desires. I was this new little creature that was now taking her mommy and daddy's attention away from her and onto me. It is a sibling story as common and old as time.