Siblings

Siblings have a unique relationship.  We knew each other when . . . truly when.  As the oldest I knew mine when they were in diapers.  I remember how my brother scooted around the house, wearing the bottom out of all his little onesies, how my sister liked to climb up on the window sills and stand there looking out the window, how my youngest brother learned to walk in casts that came up to both hips and finally he even learned to sort of run in them.

I remember my sister writing notes to her first boyfriend when he asked her, "Will you merry me?"  I can still see my brother, who is over six feet now, carrying his bass fiddle to school when it completely dwarfed him, or my little brother playing with Hey Boy, our neighbor's beagle.

I felt so protective of these people, even as they drove me to do things I would never want to write about!  Four of us five years apart, growing up in the fifties and sixties, moving so often that family members were often our only friends for a summer spent exploring new territory, riding our bicycles out to the gravel pit, or turning old chicken houses and garages into club houses.

We played and fought, stood up for each other and tattled too.  We were just regular kids and now we are just regular adults, all grown up and as different from each other as pumpkins and green beans.  You'll still occasionally find us all at the table together and today two of us are taking a road trip.