Sophomore parent's weekend is upon us. Like all of you whose parents are arriving, I took steps to prepare for the weekend. I cleaned up my room, removed the blue nail polish, and covered up my tattoo (just kidding). For the past week, I've been really excited because my parents will arrive today, and for the first time, my sister will also be at Dartmouth.
My sister Jenny is the person in the world that I am most like. We're so in tune with each other that when we get going and start talking fast, nobody else can understand a word of what we're saying. We also have exactly the same laugh, and the same complete inability to control it. Whether we're at church, the mall, or just walking down the street, we somehow manage to burst into absolute hysterics about things that nobody else seems to find the least bit funny. The adults in the vicinity tend to shoot us these looks, as if to say, "How old are you?" Of course, the dirty looks only serve to make us laugh even harder.
We're also very musical, although our level of talent would probably be disputed. We sing all the time, often the same song over and over. People often gently coax us to be quiet, but we just keep on going. When we get really inspired, we try harmony. We're not very good, so anyone within earshot tends to flee or search for earplugs. Then we move on to the piano. Our big accomplishment this year was learning Barry Manilow's "I Write the Songs." I don't think anyone but us recognizes it due to the amount of mistakes we make, but we're pretty proud of ourselves.
When I was at home before the summer, all of Detroit was consumed with Red Wing fever. Everyone was glued to their television sets, watching hockey. My sister and I were also attached to her TV, but instead of rooting for the Wings, we were watching the Nick at Nite Brady Bunch marathon. Yes, we are obsessed with the show. When we were growing up, we watched it every day after school. We had a whole routine going: the commercial breaks provided the perfect opportunity to empty the dishwasher, set the table, and make dinner. This went on for years, and by the time she left for college, we knew every line of every episode. Even when she was at college, my sister would call at 4:35 and we'd play Name That Brady Bunch, which was a contest to see who could correctly identify the episode the fastest. We could get them all in about twenty seconds. We truly are two of a kind.
My sister now teaches fourth grade. Whenever I go home, I visit her classroom. I always feel so happy when I see how much her students adore her. She truly inspires them through her goofy ways, and I get inspired watching the joy she brings into their lives. Then one of the kids says to me, "Margie, Miss DeWard was telling me us that one time you were really mad at her so you put lipstick all over her Barbie's faces." I never know quite how to respond to that one, but I vividly remember doing it. Luckily, we've transcended the fighting stage and have become the best of friends.
I miss my sister so much while I'm here. We talk on the phone often, and I can always count on her to leave nutty messages on my answering machine. It's not unusual for me to come home and find that she has sung me Polish Christmas carols or something equally bizarre. I have to turn the volume down so my roommates don't think that I am totally nuts. I'm so psyched that she'll be here for the weekend, so I can show her what my life at Dartmouth is like. I'll take her to the Dirt Cowboy, the river, and Baker Tower. Then we can stay up talking half the night and consume large quantities of chocolate.
I could go on for volumes about all the things my sister and I have in common, and all the fond memories of our childhood that I have, but that isn't the point. I wrote this because sometimes life gets so hectic that I forget to tell the people I care about how much I love them. So, Jenny, this one's for you.
