My Sister

The study of birth order sparked my attention from the first day I learned about it in high school psychology class (which was just about as many years ago as Alfred Adler’s theory was old when I first heard of him.)

Many of these things – not all good – about me as the first born are true. I am a take charge person. I like to organize (not my closets, though) and put plans in motion. I like to have things my way (just ask my husband). I try to please people. I am reliable. I crave approval. I am a caregiver.

My sister is the middle child. Naturally, I tease her about it from time to time, often using it to jokingly explain something that has happened (well, she’s the middle child, what do you expect?). But seriously, as the middle child, my sister is a good friend. She has patience (even if she doesn’t think so). At times she can be slightly uptight. She is very diplomatic. She has a rebellious side (I’m remembering the teen years). She is creative.

Tales can be told of sisters. Tales of horror. Tales of love. Or, our tale.

When I am indecisive, my sister can help me decide.

When my sister is nervous, I can help her be calm.

When I am frustrated and confused, my sister can help me see straight.

When my sister is scared, I can help her feel safe.

When I am in tears, my sister can help comfort me.

When my sister is weak, I am strong.

When I need her, my sister is there.

When my sister needs me, I am there.

By ourselves, my sister and I are incomplete. What one of us lacks, the other one has. And sandwiched in the middle of us both, we share our heart.

Together we are whole, my sister and I.