Big Sisters Don’t Cry
I read my sister’s roller-skating story and I laughed so hard,
tears were rolling down my face. I can remember that day, like it
was yesterday, but in reality, it was over 45 years ago.
There were bits and pieces of that story I had forgotten. Like that we got those
roller-skates for Christmas. I didn’t remember that part. Or that my
grandmother had come to the house to help my sister. I didn’t
remember that either.
I do remember my sister falling and grabbing her arm. I remember her trying not to cry and telling me to call our grandmother. I remember that I was so young, I wasn’t
sure how to dial a phone. I remember her telling me how to do it.
And I remember her telling me to take off her skates and hide
them in our bedroom so our parents wouldn’t know that we were
roller-skating in the kitchen, which she later did confess to.
I also remember, just a few weeks later, after telling us how dangerous it
is to roller skate in the house, our mother put on those very same
roller-skates and did the very same thing she told us not to do.
recyclable soda bottles we had lined up on the side of the
refrigerator, like a bowling ball knocking down bowling pins. And
like my sister, she swore I pushed her.
It is a family debate.
My sister has always been brave. She was the older sister,
and her job was to make everything in the world seem less scary.
I didn’t panic in that kitchen. My sister took charge and told me
exactly what to do while she did her very best to hold it together. I
looked up to her.
Although she was only eleven, to me, she was a
grown-up. She babysat me when our parents were at work. She
walked me home from the school bus stop. She cooked for me
when I was hungry. She helped me with my homework. My sister
always held my hand, and I knew I could do anything, if she was
there.
Well, maybe not everything……
My sister and I were due for our next round of vaccinations.
At the doctor’s office with our mother, we were scheduled for a
routine checkup. There was an announcement from the nurse that
we would both be receiving a shot in our shoulder.
I don’t remember what shot it was, but I do remember the size of the
needle. And I remember that our mother told my sister that she
was going first. And I do remember our mother telling my sister to
put on her brave face and not to scare me.
With a fake smile on my sister’s face, the nurse jabbed the needle into my sister’s
shoulder. My sister’s reaction, I will never forget. Her mouth
opened, but no sound came out. She grabbed her shoulder and
tears began streaming down her face. Doing her best not to cry,
she said to me, “It’s not that bad.”
Knowing, full well, that she was lying, I hopped off the examination table and ran out the door. I darted down the hallway and was almost near the exit when I felt
our mother grab me. She scooped me up and dragged me back
to the examination room.
Our mother and two nurses tried to hold me down while I kicked and screamed and fought for my life. But they were so much bigger than I was and I was outnumbered.
The needle went into my shoulder, and I let out a final scream.
When it was over, I grabbed my shoulder, crying uncontrollably.
My sister finally gave in and was crying too. There we were in the
examination room, holding our shoulders and crying.
The doctor gave us each a lollipop, hoping to quiet us down. Our mother tore
off the plastic wrappers, and we popped them into our mouths
while we were still crying. We both held onto our shoulders,
lollipops in our mouths, tears on our cheeks, misery on our faces,
and we walked down the hallway and out of that doctor’s office.
Being a big sister is a lot of work. Always having to pretend
everything is ok and shots don’t hurt. Always having to look after
younger sisters. Over the years, my sister has made it her
mission to put Rose Colored Glasses on my face to make the
world seem less scary. It is a huge responsibility being the big
sister. Makes me appreciate being born second.
-Desiree
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