Although there are thirteen and one-third years between us, as well as six siblings including another sister, my littlest sister (aka "The Baby") and I gravitate toward one another from time to time. This is probably due to the fact that, when she was little, I was always on hand to take her roller skating, shopping and to movies. Truth be told, she was in kindergarten when my future husband and I met in college, and therefore many of our first dates involved taking her to G-rated movies and other age-appropriate activities. We eventually stopped correcting people when they told us we made a beautiful family. It just wasn't worth the hassle.
But, having traded all of her baby teeth now for perfectly white and orthodontically straightened adult ones, she is in college and is no longer looking for a big sister to deposit her at a play date or supervise her at the swimming pool. Gone is the necessity to "look out for her," however, the instinct is pretty firmly imbedded in my subconscious (thanks to my mother). It's an interesting dichotomy -- she's not my daughter, however she's a half generation too young to really feel like my sister.
I lost track of when, exactly, her feet reached my size 11 in length. It was somewhere around her high school years, I imagine, because I remember slipping into a pair of her chunky, stacked Mary Janes and wondering if you had to be a teenager to pull them off, or if people at the office might find them as cute and creative-looking as I did.
For the first time in my life, I had a sister with whom I could share clothing, even if it only meant shoes. This was going to be nice! It was also around this time that I learned that she too had subverted my mom's abhorrence of all things tasting of coffee, and did indeed enjoy a good latte herself.
And so, we find ourselves standing on common ground (in our size 11s). My free hand stays toasty, wrapped around a large almond latte, as I stroll next to her amid the tables of shoes in the department store. She is enjoying a medium vanilla latte. We pick up shoes, inspecting and price checking, visualizing outfits that would be completed by a quiet yet classic pair of black strappy heels or spruced up with a coquettish pair of dark red patent pumps. We try on boots. We swap boxes. She holds my coffee as I slip on a pair of darling peacock-colored satin heels. I grumble that, although the color is sublime, alas, I have nothing they would go with. “Who cares!” she enthuses. “Sometimes you just have to buy the clothes so you can wear the shoes.”
We spend the afternoon slipping on boots, pumps, flats and fancy heels, finishing our lattes and pausing to wonder if the day is worthy of another java stop. I walk out of the final store with two sensible pairs that I know will wear well with my work wardrobe, and she walks out with a few pair that I’m secretly excited to borrow.
Life marches on and relationships change, grow, and expand. And with each passing year, I am amazed to find shared interests with some of my brothers and sisters I never could have predicted. It’s important to take advantage of these moments with siblings. These are the people with whom we share not only genes, but our history, our memories, our family traditions, and our looks. And in my case, shoe size!
