My Baby Sister:
I remember feeding you spoonfuls of banana baby food
Which you would promptly spit back out at me
And form your lips into your "fishy face"
My seven year old self grew frustrated because you wouldn't just eat
I had better things to do
Play with my barbies, ride my bike, things of that nature
But I had to feed you, and you refused to eat
Already exhibiting a mind of your own (and a stubborn one at that)
So, I tricked you.
Ate a spoonful myself, making "mmmm" sounds
And then you wanted it...because you wanted to be like your big sister
I remember playing pretend with you
We always had ridiculously imaginative minds.
We would play "hotel" for hours, a game that continued long after I was in high school
I guess we both wanted different lives than what we had.
Our game went from fighting trees as we argued over who would be the Pink Ranger
To jumping on our bikes and screaming, "Hurry, here comes the killer!"
To jumping on the fourwheeler and yelling, "Hurry, here comes the killer!" (Maybe we should work on that script)
To you cleverly murdering me with the antenna of a pink, plastic cellphone.
To me and my best friend scaring you so badly that you almost stabbed her with a butcher knife.
Why were all of our games so violent?
Thank god for our "bubbles"
I remember when I left you
In such a hurry to get away from our mother that I never really stopped and thought
And I left you to deal with them alone.
They shuttled you from one state to another
From a home to a camper in the middle of nowhere
Drove you crazy with their fighting
And I blissfully unaware
But now I realize that I could have prevented it all
If I had just stayed.
I guess it's all just a part of growing up
You make choices, and you make mistakes
And you're somehow better for it
And you turned out more well adjusted than we could have hoped
(Given the circumstances)
You sit before an easel and pour out your heart on canvas
And it's the most incredible thing that I've ever seen
I pull out pictures from my wallet and show them to everyone that I can
"This is my sister, Jazmine. She's a senior this year."
"Isn't she beautiful?"
And I smile as they study your face
And are affected by your beauty
And I am proud that I can call you my sister
And I take hundreds of pictures of you
They all turn out exactly as I see you
You're the artist of the family
But I see you as you are
And I share them with everyone
"Isn't she beautiful?"