Nobody puts baillee in the corner

The best way to describe my relationship with my sister can be summed up with the following story. Do you remember that old Jif commercial (sorry if that was you, Peter Pan, but don’t kid yourself. You aren’t Jif) where the little brothers realize they only have enough peanut butter for one sandwich, so they are tormented until their mom tells them they can cut it in half? Well, my sister, who I should clarify is 15 years older than me, says, “Why did they make it even? That kid should have cut a bigger half and taken it.” My rebuttal was, “I would have taken the smaller half so that Mom and Dad would have rewarded me for being selfless.” That should tell you everything you need to know going forward.

Each one of my birthdays begins with my sister telling the story of how I ruined her sophomore band photos because Mom went into labor two weeks early and couldn’t curl her hair. I would like to point out this was 1992, so I saved her from an awful spiral-curled photo because we Perkins women are cursed/blessed with completely straight hair. You’re welcome. To borrow a popular title from that year if I may, this should be water Under the Bridge. By the way, I can’t stop, so it’s time to give it away and start a new paragraph.

Growing up with a sibling deep into the pits of adolescence had its perks. I was probably the only two-year-old hanging out with high school seniors and getting held through sunroofs like baby Simba. I got to sleep in my sister’s room for a while after she watched The Blair Witch Project. I have a deep appreciation of the 90s still left over because I was constantly searching for her approval (never tell her that). There were downsides though.

Our relationship was strained when I was deep into the pits of adolescence. Granted, I could be a little shit, but we were going through entirely different phases of our lives. She got married when I was 15. I hadn’t even had my first kiss. She was looking into renting a house. I was watching House. We didn’t have any common ground anymore.We fought constantly, She lived a walking five minutes from our house, and we still dodged each other’s phone calls and texts and only replied when convenient. Things got better when I first left for college, but with me being a broke freshman, I didn’t handle some things as well as I should have.

The fighting starting again, each time getting worse and worse. We were barely on speaking terms by the end of my sophomore year because of our mounting family problems. We should have been totally supporting one another, but we let petty issues and opinions build a wall between us. Luckily, we found our Reagan.

For the past year, I’ve talked to my sister more than I did during college. I’ve always looked up to her both literally (she’s four inches taller than me) and metaphorically, and I get to actually tell her how much she means to me. We talked on the phone for almost an hour and a half the other night; I don’t remember that ever happening. I don’t remember the last time we actually took each other’s phone calls. She sent me a really cute care package in the mail the other day just because she saw some stuff and thought of me. I sent her Buffy the Vampire Slayer figures a while back when she was going through a rough time just to remind her I care. She shares things I write and links to my podcast with people she knows. We’re finally mending something that never should have been severed in the first place.

I’ve learned in the past year how crucial sibling relationships are. Your siblings are like your built in partners-in-crime. They’re the ones that take you to see Brokeback Mountain in eighth grade (sorry Mom) since you are way more in tune to social issues than any other 12-year-old and begged to watch it. They’re the ones that drive you to Hot Topic to get latest Fall Out Boy and Green Day band tees and patches for your denim jacket (that is still in my closet, btw). They’re the ones that you simultaneously love unconditionally and want to murder. Even if they don’t totally understand you or what you’re going through, they try. Plus, you can tell embarrassing stories about them screaming and crying when your gerbil Jeremy (named for the Pearl Jam song) got out and was waiting on their bed asleep when they came home from a movie, and people think it’s heartwarming because it’s in a blog post about how you’re glad you and your sister have a relationship again. Love you Sister.