Oh, Sister Mitchell.....

“Having a sister is like having a best friend you can’t get rid of.  You know whatever you do, they’ll still be there.” -Amy Li




Everyone that has a younger sister knows the trials and hassles you face over the years.  It begins when you’re young, when you’re reluctant to share your toys, or get angry with your parents for giving the baby too much attention.  As you grow, it morphs into stealing each other’s clothes, boyfriends in some cases, and tattling on the other for the things your parents are oblivious to. Although a major part of a sister’s relationship is sibling rivalry, you come to experience the great parts of this sacred relationship, one that no person can break up or change.

Cat and I are a year and a half apart.  We’ve always had a strong will to argue with each other, yet an unbreakable loyalty.  A couple weeks ago, while she and the boys were at school, I was watching some home videos of us.  The first was from when she was a few months old.  My mom was video taping her, trying to get her to roll over on her belly.   Longing for attention, I kept jumping in front of the camera, trying to get all eyes off of Cat, just for a moment.  Instead, I was told to move, and the second my mom’s attention was elsewhere, I ran up to my baby sister lying on the floor and kicked her square in the head. A few years later we’re on tape sitting in my little brother’s room, singing newborn Parker lullabies together.

Even now we have a love/hate relationship.  She walks in the door from school and tells me about her day, then three seconds later tosses me her work uniform to iron.  One minute she’ll be screaming at me, calling me a bitch or some variation of one, and the next she’s singing a song about her wanting me to cook for her. One day I’ll steal her belt, the next she’s wearing my sweatshirt. I’ve stayed up all hours of the night, reading her ‘The Crucible’ because she doesn’t understand, writing her papers for school, and taking care of her for two weeks straight while she laid in bed with mono.  I’ll sit around commenting on all of the dumb things she says, and she‘ll tell me I have no life, or friends, or anything else that comes to her mind. Through all of this though, I can honestly say I’m proud of the woman she’s become.  Beautiful, smart (well, book-smart), bold, outspoken and caring.  Hardworking and stubborn as hell, she’s grown into one of the greatest women I’ve ever known.

I don’t care how many times she says she hates me, how many times I’m kicked out of her room, or told to shut up.  It doesn’t matter if we have deep meaningful conversations, or take turns heinously bashing our step mom. It makes no difference if I see her once a day or once a week, I will always be there for her, and I know she’ll always be around for me. “Sister” isn’t a word to be taken lightly, it’s more than someone you’re stuck with the rest of your life.  No matter what, she’s always there; your greatest competition, worst enemy, best friend, and the one person you know you can always lean on.

Lighthouses, Cancer Comedies, and Coke Floats

"Friendship... is not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything."
-Muhammad Ali

I couldn’t wait for yesterday to begin.  My best friend Sylvie was home for the weekend, and we had made plans to go out to breakfast, carve pumpkins, and see a movie.  I talked to her the night before, and she said she’d be at my house around ten.  However, over time I’ve grown to learn Sylvie’s 10:00 is everyone else’s 10:30.  Around 11:00 she called, and had overslept.  I laughed at her and said I’d head over to her house, that it was no trouble at all, and walked out the door.

On my way to Sylvie’s house, I was in a car accident.  A bus was heading straight at my driver’s side, and I pulled my car off to the right side of the road to avoid being hit.  Unfortunately, as I pulled over, I was hit by another vehicle. There was an infant in this car, and I felt absolutely devastated. In shock, I rushed out of the car to touch base with the other vehicle, exchanged information, and sat in the passenger seat of my car waiting for the cops to arrive.  The first thing that came to mind was to call my parents, however neither of them answered, so I called Sylvie.  I needed someone to keep me calm. That girl was completely prepared to run out of her house and drive ten minutes across town to sit with me in the rain, but she didn’t need to.  All I needed was to know that someone cared enough to do that for me.

We all have friends.  Well, most of us do I hope.  They’re the people we go out with on Friday nights or call up when we need someone to talk to; but what makes the difference between a “friend” and a “true friend” or “best friend”?  This is one thing I’m starting to figure out as I grow older. Oprah Winfrey once said, “lots of your friends want to ride with you in the limo, what you want is someone to ride the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” Slowly but surely, I’m finding out who would be sitting with me on the bus.

The anniversary of my mom’s best friend’s death is coming up next month, and I know it will be a hard day for her.  She and Heather had been best friends since they were eleven years old, and knew everything about each other.  She was always like an aunt to us, there for everything from birthdays to confirmations. About 2 years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer of the gallbladder.  It was very unexpected, and it took her quickly.  She died five months later.  What was so inspiring about the whole ordeal was their friendship, how my mom was there for her when she just needed someone to talk to or sit with her.  Even though she was so sick, Heather was still there for my mom too, to get her through whatever might have been bothering her at the time.  They’d always been like this, keeping the other going, but this was different.  That was unconditional love.  That’s the kind of friendship many of us long for, but don’t always get to experience.  Thinking about my mom and Heather makes me value the friends I have, the ones I know will stick with me for many years to come.

I can look at the crew I spend time with now and know which ones will be standing next to me at my wedding, or standing as godparents to my kids one day, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out which are the limo friends and who will be walking next to me complaining about the trek to the bus stop. We all fight, we say things we probably shouldn’t, and have falling outs, but I know which people are worth my time and effort, and it’s reciprocated.  Would I send a care package to Sylvie every week if I wasn’t going to acknowledge her in a few months? Would I get together a “cheer up” card for Jake and have everyone write to him if he was just a passer by?  Would I let Taylor have my bed because she couldn’t stand to be at home, if I didn’t love that kid like she was my little sister? No.  We’d just hang out every so often on a Friday night and have the most common phrase in the relationship be “i miss you, let’s do lunch sometime.”   Friendship is more than taking what you get and running with it, it’s about giving it all you have. It’s not about being there when it’s convenient, but being there when it isn’t. It’s not about knowing what to say, but knowing when you don’t have to say anything. Most importantly, it’s about knowing how to love, even when it seems impossible.

Learn From Your Elders

Though sometimes it may seem like it, they aren’t all senile.  And even if they are, you may actually enjoy it.

A couple of years ago, my grandparents from Virginia came to visit.  That doesn’t happen too often, as it’s quite a trip, so we take advantage of it when we get to see them.  My sister, grandmother, and I were sitting at the dining room table, looking through old photo albums.  Somehow, looking at those pictures started up story telling hour…or hours I should say.  My nanny told my sister and I all about her life:  her childhood, her parents and siblings, how she met my poppy, and all about my dad when he was young. I might have been twelve or thirteen at the time, but I honestly believe I will never forget those stories.

My grandmother reminds me a lot of myself.  She had a great mom that took good care of them, and yet still she ended up with a lot of the household motherly duties. And there’s nothing wrong with that.  She had three siblings, two brothers and a sister, as do I.  She took care of them and was the leader when she needed to be, as am I.  I’ll always remember going to her house when I was younger and playing on the swing set with my cousins, helping her fold the laundry, how excited I was when I finally grew past her, and how we always remind each other that God loves us. She’s a wonderful woman, and I’m glad I’m reminded of her when I look at my own life.

My Poppy, her husband, is one of the funniest men I have ever met.  He’s so down to earth, although I’m told he was much like my dad in his younger days.  My favorite thing about him is that no matter what’s happening, whether someone’s fighting or we’re on a car ride to dinner, he has a joke.  He makes a joke out of almost everything, and I love that about him.  I remember once we (my aunt, cousin, and I) were all fighting with my father.  We were in a fairly intense conversation, and all of a sudden I looked at him.  He simply looked back at me and said “everyone’s crazy and I’m starting to worry about myself.” It made my day.  One day I’ll be able to tell my kids about my grandfather, about the walks we’d take with him, how he always smelled like apples according to Cat, how he mistook me for a horse named Mistletoe while he was recovering from a surgery, and his famous Pilgrim song.

My other grandparents are much, much different.  Slightly less sentimental, yet equally loving.

My grandmother is basically an older version of my mother.  They do everything the same, cook, clean, talk, everything.  She has such a dry sense of humor, which cracks me up.  Last summer she came up for her birthday.  It’s become kind of a tradition of ours.  She said that she wanted to go for a walk around our neighborhood, and my mom sent me with her.  She’s 83 years old, so sometimes she can be a little shaky.  I get a little overprotective sometimes, so I grabbed her hand and we just moseyed along.  A couple minutes later, we walked past some neighbors standing outside, and she dropped my hand.  I looked at her curiously, and she said:

“Good God, I didn’t want them to think you were my girlfriend!”
“Sorry Grammy, you’re not really my type.” I replied jokingly.

We laughed the whole way home, and that is one stroll around the neighborhood I will never forget.

My grandfather’s just as hilarious.  Whenever we walk into their house, he is always sitting at the kitchen table, fidgeting with something.  He’ll make us sit down, give him an update on our lives, and always without fail check out our handwriting.  Think I’m joking?  I don’t remember one visit with my grandparents since I could write that he hasn’t grabbed the nearest napkin and pen and made me write my name, cursive and print, as he sat there and critiqued it. He’ll call me every once in a while now and ask me questions about his knees, or give me something he wants googled.  He’s funny like that.

These four people are just a few of many I’ve learned from over the years; the four most near and dear to my heart.  Many teenagers and young adults don’t want to take the time to listen to older people tell stories, sit around with them at the kitchen table, or have a chat as you’re folding laundry.  What I’ve learned is that those are the best times.   The times you don’t expect to have a lesson, are the times the greatest ones occur.  It may just be a story about how they’d decorate cookies for their birthdays, but it’s their memories, and they have as much significance as ours do.  You want to know how to live your life?  Learn from those that came before you.  Take what they say to heart, and trust their judgment.

I know this much.
I will always listen, always care.
Always tell my Nanny that God loves her, sing the Pilgrim song with my Poppy, grab my Grammy’s hand when she walks uneasy, and write my name over and over again for my Pop-Pop.

And I’ll do it with a smile.

Can't live with em, Wouldn't want to live without em.

“Mom, have you ever smoked weed?”
“Yes.”
“Mom, were you ever a heroine addict?”
“Twice. Next Question.”

My mom and Parker left for the Poconos Friday night, leaving me home with Cat and Sam for the weekend.  They just got home today.  I was laying on the couch, not feeling so hot with a sore throat.  Sam was sitting on the edge of the sofa, dressed like a pretty boy, obsessed with his new hairstyle.  Mom and Parker came in and sat on the loveseat.  We played catch up for a few minutes, and then just sat and talked to each other for an hour or two. It’s days like this I’ll never forget.

Most people look in on our family and think we have an odd relationship with each other.  I’d say it’s no odder than everyone else’s.  My parents separated when I was eight.  It was no shock, my mom and dad are polar opposites.  My mother grew up in a small row home in Philly with her six brothers and sisters.  SEVEN kids my grandparents had.  My grandfather is a carpenter, and had his shop out in the backyard.  This left my grandmother with all of the kids all day long.  My mom’s whole family is incredibly laid back, and still to this day remain close to each other.  I love family holidays with them, they’re the funniest people I’ve ever met.  My dad’s family is much different.  He grew up in southern Virginia, and was raised a good Baptist boy with his younger sister, Kate.  My grandmother kept her house in ship shape and everything was very organized, still is to this day.  My dad acquired this attribute from her.  She's got the best southern cooking...unfortunately, he didn't get that one.  I love this clan all the same, but this all being said, you can see how conflict would arise in my house, with my parents being the way they are, and four impressionable kids running around.

However, it was a relatively normal divorce.  My dad moved out and my mom kept the kids.  He remarried shortly after to my step mom, Shelly.  She’s also got two kids, Jack and Allie.  Allie’s going through a gothic pre-teen stage right now (dyed her hair black, put red stripes in, etc.).  Parker played her new favorite song for me today, a screamo song. My mom walked by.  She said “play it backwards and I’ll bet it says 'I am the devil'".  For a long time we would all go over every other weekend and Christmas Eve to spend time with them.  Now that we are older and more of us are starting to work and do our own thing, the number of weekends spent at dad’s house have dwindled.  We do see him though, he stops in at work occasionally and by our house everyday.My dad's family is much different then ours.  They're much stricter, and my stepbrother and sister don't have nearly as much freedom as we do.  The thing is....if you respect authority, my mom in this case, you earn more freedom.  They definitely don't earn it.

We love each other more than anything, we just have an odd way of showing it.  Even three seconds ago, I left my room to go tell Parker something, and Sam ran and hid in my closet while I was gone.  I had just walked in and climbed into bed, when he opened the door and said “Goodnight, Jordan.” Needless to say, my sore throat is now much sorer, and I believe I told him to go to hell numerous times. I called Parker today to ask him his favorite color for a shirt I was going to buy him.  His response was “I show no discrimination against the rainbow, I like to treat all colors equally.”  Who thinks like that?

No matter how much we fight, how many bad names we call each other, or how many times Sam jumps out of my closet, nothing can ever change how much I love these people and the impact they’ve made on my life. These kids are crazy, and we have the best time together. Years from now, there’s not one holiday I won’t remember, no practical joke I’ll forget, being called a bitch on a regular basis will not slip my mind, and I will never, ever let the day my mother told Parker she was a heroine addict twice relapsed be lived down.

Ever.

She's not by the way.

It's A Wonderful Life

It’s 7:00 a.m.  It seems as if I’ve just fallen asleep.  Oh, that’s right. It’s only been 3 hours. I hear the creak of the door, the faint jingle of the dog’s collar, and the shuffle of feet moving slowly towards me.  Lifting my head would be too much of a struggle, I just keep my eyes closed and hope it goes away. “HAIL CEASAR! CEASAR OF ROME!” Repeatedly getting smacked over the head with my own pillow and the screaming of the wake-up call I’ve gotten so many times by my mother (but to this day do not understand) force my big, brown, tired eyes to open.  Oh, It’s bound to be a great day.

I’m the typical college kid.  I get up, roll out of bed, and do what I have to get done in a day.  I’ll be the first one to admit that I walk through life blindly half of the time, too concerned about my seemingly important tasks and goals to stop and smell the roses.  But you know what I‘ve found?  Life sucks without roses, it really does.  You can be alive a hundred years and not really live.  What will you have to show for it?  A couple of certifications and some g’s in the bank?  To hell with that, I want to live.

I’ve been the bookworm.  I’ve stayed inside after class and done my homework.  I’ve always been twenty minutes early to class, and spent my weekends at home, on the couch, doing nothing.  One day I was talking to my uncle.  He’s a great guy, always a father-figure to us, and has the best stories.  My mom and him have always been close, and have the same group of friends.  I love hearing about all of the crazy things they did when they were my age.  That’s when it hit me.  They were DOING THINGS when they were my age.  They were being crazy.  They were spending their days not worrying about the consequences, just having fun.  What stories was I going to be able to tell my nieces and nephews one day? I’ve got nothing, I thought.  Better start makin’ some memories. Everyone makes a new year’s resolution.  This year, I made mine.  I was done.  I was done not living, not taking every opportunity handed to me to do something.  I had places to go, people to see, and things to do. So far, so good...

I’ve spent some time with my family, actual quality time. I’ve always been close to my mom, but lately I’ve really gotten to know her.  I feel bad sometimes, I’ll go out with friends and they’ll all call their moms to let them know the details of what they’re doing, but I don’t.  “My mom doesn’t care, as long as I’m safe”, I’d say.  Then I started to realize how bad that sounds.  My mom doesn’t care?  That’s hardly the case.  My mother gets up every morning at 3:45, she’s at work at 5.  She’s a caregiver, and with the woman she takes after, it’s hard work, trust me.  She gets home at 5, cooks, helps the kids with homework, cleans up the house, and crashes on the couch by 10.  She works so hard to provide for us, and complains minimally.  She always has a smile on her face and a sarcastic comment to antagonize me.  She is the sweetest, most loving and generous person I know, and if I can be half the mother she is one day, I’ll be happy.  My sister’s going to be 18 in December.  Cat, she’s a trip; says the dumbest things you can possibly imagine.  She’s dating Juan...he doesn’t speak English. I’ve got two brothers too, Parker and Sam.  They’re typical boys.  Parker’s a sweetheart, great on the skateboard. Sam’s a gamer. I don't believe I've ever heard him cease talking for more than a minute. They’re hysterical.  Honestly, my entire family should star in an Adam Sandler movie.

If that happens, my friends should be the extras.  I actually picked up a quote from a customer at work a while back.  She was upset, just having come from visiting her best friend, who was dying of cancer.  The woman was in her later stages, and at this point too weak to speak much of the time.  I began to think how great of a friend it took to go sit with someone for hours on end and not say a word, just simply be there for them.  Just as I was thinking this, I handed the woman her change and she looked me square in the eye.  She said “real friendship comes when silence between you is comfortable”. I don’t think anything in the world can make me forget those words. I also think that is when I truly started to value my friends.

I have quite a few friends, but I have two BEST friends, Jake and Sylvie.  The two have never met, and are totally different people.  Jake and I have been friends since 5th grade.  When we were in 10th, he “came out of the closet”.  He lost a lot of his friends at that time, but the ones worth having stuck around.  He’s always been there whenever I needed him, and is always game for late night Denny’s runs or last minute campouts.  He's the one I can take to Amish Country for the day to go to the market or go pick out flowers with in the spring.  I love him to death, and though he’s 10 hours away 8 months of the year, he comes back and it’s like nothing ever changes.  Sylvie’s a different story.  We honestly haven’t been friends that long; I’ve only known her for two years.  We’re totally different people, with totally different interests.  But somehow, that’s what makes our friendship interesting.  She is probably the happiest person I have ever met in my life, always cheering everyone up.  I think my favorite thing about the entire friendship is the fact that I can be totally myself; I can send her a package of seemingly meaningless items, perfume and stick off of a tree in my backyard for example. To anyone else, it’s just some spray and a twig.  She knows that the stick is to beat off the men, and she’ll laugh.  I just recently woke up at the crack of dawn to go surprise her for her birthday in DC.  Worth every dime and hour of sleep missed.

These are the people I make my memories with; my friends and family.  We spend days at the river, take trips to the Poconos, and spend hours on end sitting outside of Dairy Queen.  We go to the beach for the day, camp, and eat more than any person should.  We spend nights outside by bonfires, and feel like hopping on a bus at 5:00 in the morning is worth it to see the other’s face the very second they turn 18.  These are the people I don’t consult my schedule for, but are who I live for.  These are the people that I would go sit in the hospital with in dead silence, and feel completely at ease.

Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our busy schedules that we forget what’s important.  Why do we get up in the morning?  To finish that essay for Modern Culture, or take care of your little sister who’s laying upstairs with mono?  I am not saying school's not important, or work’s not important.  I’m simply saying that these are not the things worth living for.  The people we love and the things that make us smile and feel like we’re on top of the world is what makes this life worth living.  Do yourself a favor: think about your priorities, consider the things and the people that matter. Remember why this is such a wonderful life, and start living it.