SUNDAY THOUGHTS: FIFTY

Today, my baby sister celebrates her 50th birthday. 

The little girl whose hand I had to hold, and make sure she got safely to and from school, is 50. 

She's finally caught up, it seems. 

My little sister will always be my little sister to me because I'm 6 years and 2 months older, and because...well...compared to me, she's little..lol...

but she's a giant of a phenomenal woman.

There had been many false alarms about when she would greet the world. 

When 1966 ended, in spite of several speedy car trips throughout December, from South East DC to Bethesda, she waited until the New Year. 

Fresh start. 

I remember when my mother brought her home from the hospital. 

She was a plump, pretty, wide-eyed, chocolate baby, and my big sister Robyn and I fawned over her, and treated her like a doll. 

We would pose pictures with her in her crib, and hold long balloons over her head, as if she were a princess. 

We were cheesing, but the look on her face in the photos is hilarious. It was as if she was saying, "Who are these weirdos?" 

She had to wear leg braces for a while, and it was fascinating to watch her moving about in her crib, even as both legs were bound. 

She would bang those metal braces against the mattress. She miraculously learned how to get out of them. 

She wanted out. 

As she grew she was fragile, pigeon-toed, a little goofy and nerdy (the little eyeglasses didn't help the look, but she was an avid reader), and deathly afraid of dogs, frogs, and bugs--any kind of bug. 

(She still is--afraid of dogs, that is. 

We still laugh about the dog we chased away from sniffing her and licking her face, as she convincingly played dead on Wilmington Street.) 

She was so little, and we felt it was our job to protect her. There was no seat belt in the back seat of the car, so my big sister and I would hold hands across her lap to keep her securely in her middle seat. 

She wasn't always feeling that set up. It was restricting. Why did she always have to sit in the middle? Why couldn't she have a window seat? 

She wasn't going to be our gopher, either. She got hip quickly. If you wanted something and you were disabled, okay, but able-bodied, non-parental people? Go get it yourself.

She shunned trouble. The thought of being in trouble was crippling, and she often had to be reassured that what she'd done or said, wasn't a big deal after all. 

I remember when she seriously considered being a nun. Her admiration for Sister Diane Marie at St. Thomas More Catholic School was deserving, but the aspiration to follow in her footsteps, didn't last. 

It too, was restricting. 

She was a Barbizon model, high school class leader, and a radio announcer, and of the three of us, the best dancer. 

Before the Huxtables had family meetings, she was calling them, and my parents humored her so she could air her grievances. 

She always had a voice; knew her rights, and had no problem speaking up. Sometimes, we were afraid for her. She said things we wouldn't have dared say. Being seen, but not heard was not her thing. 

Fairness mattered. There would be no injustice. "This is my life!" she said dramatically one day. 

It would have been funny if it hadn't been true. 

She was arguing for the right to collaborate with someone who was leading her toward what would eventually be her vocation.

My baby sister's always been ambitious, a free thinker, daring, talented, and witty. 

She has always understood the necessity of having fun, the importance of laughter, and was defiant in her pursuit of happiness and joy.

As with any younger sibling's relationship with parents, older siblings notice the relaxing of rules, the abandonment of certain forms of discipline, the encouragement to speak freely, the enlightenment, the loosening of the apron strings. What remained, however, was the demand that a good education be a priority.

Get that piece of paper. 

Try as many things as you can. 

Know what's going on in the world. 

Be a leader, not a follower. 

Think about someone other than yourself. 

Be able to take care of yourself. 

Know who you are. 

Don't apologize for, condone, minimize or accept abuse of any kind. Serve. 

Give back. 

Teach. 

Cultivate your gifts. 

See the world. 

Get out of your comfort zone. 

Be careful, but don't be afraid. 

Respect boundaries that others set, but don't limit yourself.

People (even those who share our DNA) have tried relentlessly and failed to pit us against each other; to make comparisons, to point out obvious differences as if we don't see them, and sow discord and insecurity. We know that those kinds of attempts can only succeed with our participation and consent. We're not giving it. We shared a sainted mother who instilled discernment; taught us how to celebrate others, appreciate differences, harness the strength of harmony, agree to disagree, and denounce unnecessary competition.

My little sister has made us very proud, and is still making us so. She's an awesome, attentive, fierce mother, educator, entertainer, mentor, writer, and recording artist. Her stamina is dizzying. 

Her determination and work ethic is admirable. 

She's loves hard, and is fearless. 

Things haven't always been easy, (One learns that being nice, gracious or loving to others doesn't always guarantee that niceness, graciousness, or love will be shown in return. One learns that proficiency and a willingness to help doesn't always guarantee acceptance, promotion or support.), but she sure as heck doesn't look like what she's been through. 

For that--for going through the fire and not reeking of smoke, and for daring to recognize her own worth; for daring to love and celebrate herself, I salute her today.

I hope she embraces 50 for the beautiful milestone it is--as well as the benefits of AARP membership. 

Those discounts are no joke.