siblings « neverimitate

This week’s Remember the Time Blog Hop has the theme: Sibling Rivalry

We were ‘the girls’. Adults would muse over what the girls would like to do, or if the girls could be taken along. We shared a bedroom at home, sometimes a bed when on holiday. Whatever clothes my sister was given, I would be wearing a couple of years later. In the eyes of the world we were a unit, yet in so many ways we were poles apart.

Growing up my sister was the one I looked up to, literally. She was tall and slim whereas I was short and dumpy. She had this wonderful, long, blond hair that I loved to brush and plait when we were little. I kept my hair short for much of my childhood as I ran around trying to be a boy. At school I could go and sit with my sister and her friends when I felt lonely, or spend time with them in the playground. If I wanted to go some place then my mother would allow it so long as my sister went along to look out for me. She was the sensible, reliable one. She was my friend.

I believe I irritated her a great deal. When she was given a particular type of doll, I would want one too. If she called her doll Susie then I would call mine Susan; if she named her doll Katherine then I would name mine Kathy. When our grandmother knitted a set of baby soft clothes for my sister’s brand new, baby doll I was so cross and jealous that our mother had to ask for a set to be made for my baby doll too. My sister told me that my doll had an ugly face compared to her’s. She was right.

My sister guarded her close friends. When I dared to play with one, and wrote about her as my friend in a diary, my sister was incensed. C was her friend not mine, and I was so stupid that I couldn’t even spell Diary (I had written Dairy on the notebook cover). I was teased about this for a long time. I didn’t dare to seek out C as a playmate again, and I stopped keeping a diary.

Our shared bedroom was an issue when we fell out. We would draw a line down the middle that the other may not cross. This meant that I could not get to the toybox and she could not get to the door. When our much older brother went away to university my sister moved into his room during term time. She adored our brother and relished sleeping amongst his things. It was the first time either of us experienced privacy.

Looking back at how we grew up in our parent’s home, there was so much that we didn’t notice about each other’s lives. So self absorbed were we, so possessive of our right to secrecy in certain matters, that we shared the same space yet did not notice the major issues that the other was facing. So many important things were never discussed.

When my sister reached her teens she became interested in fashion and looking good whereas I was generally happy to continue to dress in her hand me downs. The only items that I did not enjoy wearing were the shoes she grew out of. One memorable year I was teased at school and given the nickname Swanky Shoes because of a pair of shiny, black heels that she had passed on. I hated those shoes but had no others to wear.

We had very different personalities and aspirations. My sister was careful and private, especially with her relationships. I appeared more lively and open, resulting in many clashes with my mother. In my eyes my sister and mother were close whereas I was at odds with the person my mother wanted me to be.

When my parents started to go on holiday without us, my sister would take charge of the house. On one such night I was out with a group of friends. With no parental curfew in place we returned home late and my friends asked if they could crash on the floor downstairs until morning. This was the first time that I remember my sister ever bringing a boyfriend back to the house. The unexpected bodies on the lounge floor put paid to any plans she may have had; I think that night she could happily have throttled me.

These irritations and clashes though were moments in a relationship that provided me with a rock that I knew I could rely on. My sister never condemned my behaviour or appeared disappointed in me as my mother was wont to do. She comforted and encouraged me, flattered and praised me when I needed to know that I was okay.

I guess our sibling rivalry was low key. There were plenty of petty jealousies but we were too different to aspire to be the other. I would love to know what she would write about me.