The Sister Tales
Sometimes things aren’t exactly as they seem. Growing up alongside two other girls and my mother certainly felt like a full house. In our rather small middle-class home, a throwdown was instigated by one of us every morning. Feminine products, hot rollers, lipstick, and rapid sequential showers filled our mornings and led to some serious girl fights.
Most of the time we ran around the house like four wild gypsies. Our faithful leader, my mother, resembled more of an older sister. She was admittedly at times immature. I am the oldest girl, the bossiest and maybe the most selfish. My two younger sisters had very contrasting personalities. The middle sister was extremely social, a risk-taker and overly independent. My youngest sister, our comedian could not be overlooked. By thirteen she could stand her ground against all of us.
The majority of the time we were perceived as sweet little girls. To the world, we seemed quiet and good-natured. Not always true, but we could put on a good act in public. Mom ensured we remained polite and refined. Our grandmother instructed us on how to look and walk like a lady. She practiced with us each summer. I still remember her advice for keeping my head up and shoulders back as I imagined an invisible string pulling me upward. This little trick works. My grandmother also warned us to never leave the house without a dab of lipstick on.
Three Sisters and A Mom: One Set of Rollers
We shared one set of hot rollers to keep our hair curled. That was another issue. It wasn’t the rollers, it just seemed impossible to keep up with all the clips. Someone was always leaving one in their room or on their floor. Our makeup was usually missing because someone had secretly borrowed it without asking. I have to admit I was guilty of this myself. We never liked sharing clothes either. Thankfully, we had contrasting styles and wore different sizes.
Crappy moods, sharing the ironing board, and horrible hair days were a recipe for our biggest arguments. Hairbrushes would fly and fingernails would scratch. I confess I’m probably the worst of them all when it relates to hair. A hateful remark from a sister’s mouth could stir up the evil estrogen spirits and start a full-on fight. We all kept long hair, so of course, we took advantage of it. Near the end, we would be rolling around on the ground.
Our evenings were filled with laughter, cooking, eating, and classic music. Honestly, our fun times were created out of nothing. Before the days of Caller ID and cell phones, we lived for spontaneous jokes and prank phone calls. Some of our pranks didn’t end so well.
Even though we could despise each other with such passion, we loved each other tremendously. As quick as we fought, we made up. Mom would play the referee, then all would be well, and life went on.
Without a doubt, I can say I sincerely love my sisters. The most special thing about having a sister was that I always had a friend, and still do.
