JOYRIDE III

Two life changing events occurred on Feb. 7, 1998.
First on the to-do list was the obligatory picture taking and welcoming of my new baby sister into the world. Secondly, and what mattered most to an eight-year-old me, I had to go see “Spice World” with my best friend.
I spent 10 minutes in the hospital before I ditched my youngest sister, Annie, and left with my best friend to go see the Spice Girls movie. Perhaps that lack of attention on her first day is what set our rocky relationship into motion.
Naturally, Annie looks up to her two older sisters as a younger sister would do. The problem is, she’s nine years younger than me and six years younger than our middle sister, Heather.
Because of our massive age differences, Heather and I don’t have much in common with Annie. Yet, Annie feels the need to mimic our every move.
Psychology tells us that if two children in a family are more than five years apart in age, mentally, the younger child is a “functional first-born.” Therefore, Annie shares a lot of the same personality traits with Heather and I, but more so with me.
Annie and I are both headstrong and want the last word.
We trade wisecracks and have an oddly loving way of insulting each other. Sometimes the arguing and fighting is rather intense and even though Annie is only 12 years old and I’m on the brink of turning 21, the frustration we put on each other can send both of us away in tears.
Now, it’s not to say that Heather and Annie haven’t had their fair share of tiffs and that the Spice Girls haven’t rattled their relationship a bit as well.
When Annie was two years old and dancing to the Spice Girls on a coffee table like it was a stage, she broke an arm when Heather and a friend moved the table while Annie was still standing on it.
This incident remained a secret between the sisters and friend for five years before they confessed that Annie didn’t fall off the table at her own free will.
And that’s what it is to be sisters.
You can insult your sister, put your sister in a cast and joke around with your her, but you will always keep a secret for your sister.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to being an only child and have my parents undivided attention (and money), but in reality I wouldn’t change anything. I’ve gotten past my parents calling me “Heather, Annie, whatever-your-name-is” and for being yelled at for things I haven’t done.
Despite all the fights and tears, we still have a unique bond and if my sisters need me I’ll always be there.
Keith Forrest an assistant professor of communication at Atlantic Cape Community College. His late mother Libby Demp Forrest Moore wrote the Joyride column for this newspaper for 20 years.
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