My Seester

Somewhere along the way, Jodi and I started referring to each other as "my seester". I don't remember when it started or why, but it signalled a closeness as we became women, mothers and both had survived some rough times. My first memories of her are of me being the big sister by three years and she was a toddler learning to walk. She was feisty, determined, strong and didn't want much help. I have been told that I am too sensitive (and admit this is probably true), but her exterior is made of steel and genuinely felt righteousness.

My first memory of Jodi is trying to give her help when she didn't want any. I remember feeling hurt at the time because I wanted so badly for her not to be hurt, to protect her and for her to like me. We were in our backyard on Durkin Street on the patio and she had fallen down. I tried to help her up and she pushed me away. I thought nothing less of her (as if it would matter to a toddler), but felt helpless because I wanted and needed her approval, as I have all my life.

I wonder if she has ever felt helpless; I think so, but she rarely "goes there". This is how Jodi and I might be different. Where I am probably annoyingly open about my feelings, Jodi has a "let's go kick some butt" attitude toward life. She is also fervently loyal, smart with a quick wit, and not chatty as I am. Her words are like darts and are usually aimed at getting a laugh out of me, and she usually does. She is also a good listener and well tested mother whose homespun cooking and baked goods are generously shared with family, neighbor kids and anyone who shows up at her house.

When I went to summer school in about second grade, I asked her if she wanted to come with me. She said yes, and I was so proud to hold her hand as we navigated the sidewalk over the cracks, both of our long ponytails swinging with each step. We learned about pollywogs and reproduction. My teacher loved her, and I was elated until I found out that my mother didn't know she was with me. I assumed my mother knew and Jodi was brave enough to think she didn't need to ask or tell her. In those days it wasn't unusual for mothers to allow their kids to walk the two blocks to school alone. It was a different time. I loved her company. My mother was frantic, but relieved when she found out what had happened.

We were fast friends in hula-hooping, Easter egg hunts, swings, carroms, hopscotch, tetherball, dodgeball and all those kid games that easily happen in year-round sunshiny outdoor California weather. We were "regulars" at after school recreation programs, and it was a simpler time when neighbors all knew each other. Mothers would get together for coffee after the kids went to school and when we came home. We were sent outside to play till the street lights came on or dinner was ready. In all of this, Jodi was there, my faithful companion and fiercely independent sister.

When she learned how to ride a bike, at first she only stopped with her feet sliding on the sidewalk. It took her awhile to learn to use brakes. One day, knowing she could not stop quickly enough, she barreled in between two elderly women walking on the sidewalk, shouting "beep beep". The women were angry because one of them had a heart condition. My brother and I had witnessed the event and the women who asked Larry Stevens, the boy down the street if he knew who her parents were. He denied knowing her, though he knew all of us well. My brother and I fessed up and rounded up my father. When he came out to talk to the women, they angrily explained what had happened, my dad asked, "what do you want me to do, beat her?" and Jodi perked up to defend herself. "I said, beep beep!" I would have been melting to my knees with tears and apologies, but Jodi had moxie.

Jodi was tough and smart, so at middle school age, my brother and I made a significant error in judgement one night when were supposed to babysit while my parents went out. Mike and I were feeling our oats at the beginning of those "hanging out" at the local baseball park years. I wanted to go meet up with Foster Campbell, whom I had a crush on, and he had a girlfriend he wanted to see. We left Jodi alone at home with our friend Rusty McTague's phone number. He lived across the street, we trusted him and knew she was smart enough to pick up the phone and call if anything happened. We arrived home, and as Mike opened the garage door, we awoke to the horror of our parents' station wagon sitting there. Mike's first words were, "want to run away?" It didn't take too much convincing, but I suggested we ought to go in and face the music. We were in bad trouble and Jodi HAD been scared. She had called Rusty.

Despite whatever punishment we received, the worst part of the situation was knowing my sister had needed me and I had not been there. I really didn't think she would call Rusty. That day I learned that my sister could be frightened and it surprised me because I had never known that about her. She had such a fearless exterior. She beat up Bob Foster, who had called her a name. She stood up to two elderly ladies and she went to summer school with me without worry about what my mother would think.

I really don't know if I changed my behavior toward her because I entered those oh-so-selfish and active years of high school after our family had moved across town. We shared a room; her side was neat and clean, mine, a hot mess. She came home and sat down at the dinner table every night to do her homework. I sprawled on my bed with stuff all over, sorting through what I might need to get turned in. She never complained about my messes and most of the time let me borrow her clothes until I had ruined a few of them. Then she drew the line.

I lived my high school years with friends, dates, dances, cheer practices and summer camps. I worked at a local pharmacy for four years as a sales clerk. She never seemed to need anything, but I was probably too self absorped and occupied to notice if she did. Yet despite my inattention, in the stands at a football game, she overheard some of my peers saying bad things about me and gave them a few choice words to think about.

When I left for college, I didn't consider that she made a sacrifice to wait to go away until I finished. We did conspire, however on one of my birthdays around that time. She wanted a puppy after our beloved bassett hound Hector died. We went to the animal shelter on my birthday to pick out a puppy, and she told my mother it was my birthday present (though we both knew the dog was hers). After much protest from Mom and Jodi's stubborn refusal to return the puppy, Nikki lived at my parents' home and became my parents' faithful companion until she passed away several years later.

Over the passing years, Jodi has bought bikes and clothes for my girls when I could not afford them. She never missed remembering them generously on either of their birthdays or Christmas. She was there for Steffie through her college years in California. Though she and Steffie are bosom buddies because of those years and a certain "likeness", she has never stopped being there for both girls and treating them with equal love and respect.

No mother can deny the importance of a loving auntie, who holds her sister up when things are hard, stands up for her when she is not around, who gives and gets accurate information on the phone when my folks have things a little wrong, who is my emergency "go-to" person from states away when I have a situation that requires one. This list could go on forever, beginning with sharing a king sized bed with me because of a hotel snafu when Steffie graduated from USD, driving 14 hours with her family to attend Amanda and Todd's wedding in Ashland over the span of a short weekend, shopping for a bridal gown with my daughter when I could not be there, hand-crafting a cake tower for the wedding, spending countless hours sorting through to-do lists and plans with a nervous bride to be, sending me flowers on Valentine's Day or Easter or Mother's Day on a hit and miss basis because sisters understand.

Different as we are, I have never doubted her loyalty to me, rock-like support, practical good sense, and infinite love for my daughers as we grew from children to women to mothers to aunties to daughters who know they will be there for each other when either of us are in need or our parents need us more. That's a seester. That's my Seester.