My Little Sister

Little Kathee and me in the Smokey Mountains, circa early 1980s.

I am the oldest of three girls born into our family. I have two wonderful sisters and although we all fell from the same apple tree, one bite and you know you have a Granny Smith, a Northern Spy, and a Gala. What is similar is that we all have the same core (issues, that is). I suppose that is true for all siblings.

When we were young, I dutifully took on the role of big sister - bossing them around, playing practical jokes, ignoring them, doting on them, but always protecting them. It was my youngest sister Kathee that got the worst from me, although Diann would bet her first born that it was SHE who suffered the most.

Little Kathee was a happy child, always smiling with her bright brown eyes. I vividly remember her going through that stage when every sentence leaving her cute little mouth was "What's that?" "What's that?" What's THAT?"  She talked all the time and seemed to have an abundance of spit, thus penny-sized bubbles would appear as she babbled on. For awhile, Little Kathee was known as Bubbles.

I remember a time when Little Kathee was taking a bath. Enter big sister with a full box of Mr. Bubble. I poured the whole box in the tub and shut the sliding shower doors, just to see what would happen. Before long, blood curdling screams came racing out of the bathroom and swooshed out the front door into the neighborhood. I ran in and found the bubbles pouring over the top of the shower doors, with my little sister trapped inside a cloud of iridescent globes, crying and sputtering. Ok, not so funny.

Kathee's high school graduation, Edwardsburg, Michigan

Then there was the time she and I were down at my fort in the field behind our house. I had been practicing spear throwing and wanted to show off my new skill.  "Watch this!" I said, as I threw the sharp-pointed stick carefully aimed at a spot right between her two bare feet. "Aaaahhhhhhh!!!!!" she yelled, as the spear bounced off the top of her right foot.  Blood began to pour from the hole I had just created. I ran to my rustic bathroom under the pin cherry tree and grabbed a roll of toilet paper that was stuck on a broken branch.  "Here, press this onto your foot and hold it there!" I instructed. I picked my sister up, she holding the bloody toilet paper roll on her bleeding foot, and me struggling to carry her up the hill to our house. By the time we got to the backyard, the neighbors had heard her yelling and came running. "Did she get bit by a snake?" someone hollered, as everyone around believed the water snakes that lived in the swamp were actually poisonous cottonmouths. "Uh, no" I replied. "I speared her."

"YOU WHAAAAAAT?" my mother said. Little Kathee was whisked away to the local doc for stitches.  I felt real bad.

It didn't end there. Poor Kath. One of my favorite toys was my Creepy Crawlers kit. It had a square metal heating unit that held a metal mold which you filled with some unknown and probably toxic colorful substance. I would plug in the unit and watch the liquid turn into rubber worms, bugs, and troll heads. God that was cool.  Little Kathee didn't think so. She was scared to death of those worms. She should have kept that to herself. One night, I put a large number of Creepy Crawlers into Little Kathee's bed. I'll let your imagination do the rest...

Then, all of a sudden, we grew up.

My hero.

For most of our adult lives we have lived many miles apart, she in Texas and me in Michigan. I have not been able to watch over her like I did when she was so small. Not that I should, but that is the natural instinct of a big sister. Little Kathee has faced many challenges in life since then, challenges that no one should have to go through, yet she has faced every single one with honor and dignity. No matter what life deals her, she always looks for the bright side of things, caring for others in her life, reaching out a helping hand to those in need. As many women do, she is redefining herself as she approaches the wise age of 50, and she is an inspiration to all around her. I can't help it, but when I look into her bright brown eyes, I still see that cheerful, innocent little girl. I imagine I always will.

I am proud of my little sister and who she has become. And I attribute some of her resiliancy to the early training she received from her big sister all those years ago.