I've had an older sister for as long as I can remember, but there are a thousand things she never told me. If we could have switched roles, just for a day, there are a thousand things I would have made clear.
Like how when the doctor makes some marks on a clipboard and tells you you're a healthy weight and growing well, keep eating homegrown fruits and veggies, never shying away from the occasionally cookie or two.
When you fall short of your goals, never release pressure, rather jump in the river and have a raspberry popsicle plus an inspirational spiel, then get up and keep trying.
When they tell you you're too short, tell them how at least you never hit your head or duck beneath doorways.
When the cat hisses like a fan and swipes for the first time, clip its nails and explain why it's wrong to scratch, because of course it understands your words.
When the wind howls and leaves quiver, walking alone in the forest at night on one of those camping trips, take a deep breath, bundle up in your coat, and weave your way back home.
When your favorite stuffed animal rips, or when your best hot cocoa mug with the picture of our family breaks, take a broom or a cloth and clean it up because it doesn't matter whose fault it was, let's all be a little more careful next time.
When they taunt and tease you for your appearance in a bathing suit, tell the truth to whom you trust, tell me the truth. Smile and laugh and splash in the glistening lake until the end of time.
When we quibble and quarrel and fight like sisters do, only blame it on me if you're sure it's true---take some space if you please, and then we'll have that talk later, filled with only sincere apologies, or even sincere blames, as long as we tie it up with an inside joke.
When war breaks out across the world because greedy leaders just want more, ask every last one of the questions that can't help but bubble up in your mind, and I'll help you make a poster or a flag of support to stake in the front lawn.
When the teacher gives you a talking to and you run into the wall again in gym class and you forgot your clarinet at home, remember that everybody just has one of those days at one time or another, and what you do about them is what really matters.
When you write for hours upon hours until your computer breaks down and didn't save any of your work, grunt and sob into a soft pillow, until you're ready to hear about how writers have drafts upon drafts upon drafts, and you learned something and improved anyway.
When you kick over the milk glass sitting beside the couch and utter your first curse, I'll try not to laugh, and I'll peel open my spelling book and teach you how it was originally from the Old English word scēadan meaning to seperate, before passing through German and Middle English, because I'll always be a nerd like that.
When your first boyfriend, or perhaps girlfriend, comes to meet our family, I'll tell them all of your most embarrassing stories and offer them our mother's best chocolate chip cookies.
When our great-grandfather passes away, or maybe our beloved grandmother, we'll find out in a real conversation rather than over text---that way, we can hold each other and cry and ask a thousand questions, or maybe none at all.
When you have four hours of homework, plus dance class, and the family can't stop arguing, and body shaming and general teasing are revolving around the school and you can't figure out who you are, I'm here to listen, and I'll help you find the right therapist who is always just down the block---like how I'll always be just down the hallway.
When the trees across the street are cut down for industry and you watch glaciers calving on TV, I'll tell you all I know about climate change and I'll teach you about what to recycle, and we'll binge Greta Thunberg Ted Talks and make some more posters for the local protest.
When you tell me I'm so smart, so athletic, so perfect, just because I can spell phytophthora, I'll tell you all about how I cry at bee stings and those three times when I never stopped running and crashed into the gym wall, and the story of each one of my tears after messing up the y in staphylococci.
When our mother listens to VPR in the car for the longest drives and you gaze out the window in the back seat, struggling to comprehend why people are hated---tormented, beaten, murdered---just because of the color of their skin, we'll write a letter to the principal to raise a black lives matter flag.
When your friends have more followers and likes than you on social media, I'll stop you from falling into that trap, and if it helps, I'll let you know that those numbers are no representation of who you really are.
When humans throw curve balls at the world, when life throws curve balls at you, we'll eat cookies and ask questions and make posters and let what hurts us make us stronger, more motivated, and with that motivation, we will make a thousand quiet little changes in the world. Promise.
Like how when the doctor makes some marks on a clipboard and tells you you're a healthy weight and growing well, keep eating homegrown fruits and veggies, never shying away from the occasionally cookie or two.
When you fall short of your goals, never release pressure, rather jump in the river and have a raspberry popsicle plus an inspirational spiel, then get up and keep trying.
When they tell you you're too short, tell them how at least you never hit your head or duck beneath doorways.
When the cat hisses like a fan and swipes for the first time, clip its nails and explain why it's wrong to scratch, because of course it understands your words.
When the wind howls and leaves quiver, walking alone in the forest at night on one of those camping trips, take a deep breath, bundle up in your coat, and weave your way back home.
When your favorite stuffed animal rips, or when your best hot cocoa mug with the picture of our family breaks, take a broom or a cloth and clean it up because it doesn't matter whose fault it was, let's all be a little more careful next time.
When they taunt and tease you for your appearance in a bathing suit, tell the truth to whom you trust, tell me the truth. Smile and laugh and splash in the glistening lake until the end of time.
When we quibble and quarrel and fight like sisters do, only blame it on me if you're sure it's true---take some space if you please, and then we'll have that talk later, filled with only sincere apologies, or even sincere blames, as long as we tie it up with an inside joke.
When war breaks out across the world because greedy leaders just want more, ask every last one of the questions that can't help but bubble up in your mind, and I'll help you make a poster or a flag of support to stake in the front lawn.
When the teacher gives you a talking to and you run into the wall again in gym class and you forgot your clarinet at home, remember that everybody just has one of those days at one time or another, and what you do about them is what really matters.
When you write for hours upon hours until your computer breaks down and didn't save any of your work, grunt and sob into a soft pillow, until you're ready to hear about how writers have drafts upon drafts upon drafts, and you learned something and improved anyway.
When you kick over the milk glass sitting beside the couch and utter your first curse, I'll try not to laugh, and I'll peel open my spelling book and teach you how it was originally from the Old English word scēadan meaning to seperate, before passing through German and Middle English, because I'll always be a nerd like that.
When your first boyfriend, or perhaps girlfriend, comes to meet our family, I'll tell them all of your most embarrassing stories and offer them our mother's best chocolate chip cookies.
When our great-grandfather passes away, or maybe our beloved grandmother, we'll find out in a real conversation rather than over text---that way, we can hold each other and cry and ask a thousand questions, or maybe none at all.
When you have four hours of homework, plus dance class, and the family can't stop arguing, and body shaming and general teasing are revolving around the school and you can't figure out who you are, I'm here to listen, and I'll help you find the right therapist who is always just down the block---like how I'll always be just down the hallway.
When the trees across the street are cut down for industry and you watch glaciers calving on TV, I'll tell you all I know about climate change and I'll teach you about what to recycle, and we'll binge Greta Thunberg Ted Talks and make some more posters for the local protest.
When you tell me I'm so smart, so athletic, so perfect, just because I can spell phytophthora, I'll tell you all about how I cry at bee stings and those three times when I never stopped running and crashed into the gym wall, and the story of each one of my tears after messing up the y in staphylococci.
When our mother listens to VPR in the car for the longest drives and you gaze out the window in the back seat, struggling to comprehend why people are hated---tormented, beaten, murdered---just because of the color of their skin, we'll write a letter to the principal to raise a black lives matter flag.
When your friends have more followers and likes than you on social media, I'll stop you from falling into that trap, and if it helps, I'll let you know that those numbers are no representation of who you really are.
When humans throw curve balls at the world, when life throws curve balls at you, we'll eat cookies and ask questions and make posters and let what hurts us make us stronger, more motivated, and with that motivation, we will make a thousand quiet little changes in the world. Promise.
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