October 5th marked the 40th anniversary of when I gave up the name “Only Child” and took on “Sister.”

As I recall it, it was a bright early October day when my brother Dave came into the world. Fall had hit and we were wearing socks with our sandals in Ft. Myers, Florida. It was a rough existence. My parents dropped me off at the house of their friends, Jay and Colleen, where I watched cartoons all night and ate sugary cereal straight from the box. This was a major upgrade from life at my house, where my television viewing was limited to Mr. Rodgers and Captain Kangaroo, and cereal was typically Cheerios in a bowl with milk and eaten with a spoon at the kitchen table.

But I digress.

I remember being told that we would have a new addition to our family and I would become a Big Sister. I was about 2 1/2 and I was sold on the idea that whether this new child was a boy or a girl, I’d have a playmate. Imagine that! A built in friend for life!  This person would surely want to play dolls, play in my kitchen, build castles in our sandbox, and swing on our swing set. I would be a Sister and life would be grand.

Can you imagine my surprise when my parents brought him this bundle of blankets who spent his days and nights sleeping, eating, and pooping?

Do you know how much newborns play dolls or build sandcastles? Not. At. All.

That’s right. My parents lied to me. To my face. For more than nine months.

They carried on this lie, knowing that it would be years before my brother would be able to play with me and, by then, the novelty of being a sister would have worn off.

Seriously. Who does that??? Jerks.

Fast forward a few years. Dave learned to walk and to kick. He wore these awful shoes that helped with some walking problem he had. They had wooden soles and he had perfect aim to my shins. It turns out, kicking Sisters in the shins is the #1 job of Brothers. This was not in the hype my parents sold me.

Eventually, I became accustomed to being a Sister. I almost didn’t mind Dave stealing my tights for his Superman costume. There were months where our only communications happened at levels requiring anyone in a 5-mile radius to be wearing noise canceling headphones. We didn’t always get along, but he was my Brother and I was his Sister. I could pick on him, but if anyone else dared to put him down, they got to deal with me.

I was incredibly protective of Dave. One memory stands out clearly to me. In fact, it chokes me up to think about it 35 years later. When I was in 3rd grade, Dave was in Kindergarten. We used to walk to school by ourselves. It was the 1970s and we lived 2 blocks from school – don’t judge our mom. Normally we walked together, but on this particularly chilly morning, Dave stopped to play at his friend Christopher’s house. They were best friends and in the same class. When the school bell rang, I still hadn’t seen Dave on the playground. By the time I reached my class, I was a sobbing mess certain that something had happened to my Brother. I was inconsolable until my teacher had the brilliant idea of taking me to Dave’s class to confirm his attendance. Sure enough, Dave was there and all was fine. But I just had to be certain. (Aside: This incident should have been a clue I had high anxiety.)

By the time we got to high school, we’d mostly given up our sibling rivalry ways. We’d both found areas in which we excelled and we were each others loudest cheerleaders. In fact, I was literally his cheerleader as a member of the soccer cheerleaders (yep, that’s how cool I was). We had figured out that no matter what else was happening in our lives, we could count on each other to help us celebrate our victories or console us when things didn’t quite go our way.

Today, Dave is my best friend. He’s my go-to guy. He challenges me to be better and doesn’t laugh (too hard) at me when I can’t remember how to ride a bike, for example. In return, I challenge him to think differently and hear the full meaning behind words. We balance each other out and I can’t remember the last time a phone call ended without telling him I loved him and hearing him say it in return. Sometimes, he’ll even say it first.

So as I celebrate 40 years of being a Sister, I raise a glass to my little Brother, Dave. I’m really glad I gave up the name Only Child in favor of Sister. It’s the name I’m most honored to be called.

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