My sisters have always been my best friends. I am the youngest of my family — Baby Bond as my teachers always called me — with two older, beautiful, brilliant sisters: my four-year older, supportive, social-working sister Ashley who lives in Chicago, and my six-year older sister, the ambitious attorney-to-be Cheryl who is graduating from UVA Law. It is hard to summarize a relationship as fraught with frustration, adoration, annoyance, compassion, and love as sisterhood. But I will do my best to describe the most amazing people in my life the best way I know how — by showing how much they care for their little sister.
. . . . .
When I moved to public school in sixth grade, there were many changes that my young, sheltered self had to adapt to: no more daily prayers, no more being needlessly forced to take Latin, no more navy blue uniform. Most of these changes I really enjoyed but there was one new part of my daily routine that I hated — changing in the dreaded PE locker rooms.
As an insecure 11-year-old, getting dressed in front of sixty other girls felt like a nightmare. But what made it much worse was a group of girls who liked to gossip about everyone changing around them. They would look at me and whisper as I got dressed each day. I hoped my suspicions that I was the subject of these incessant whispers was all in my head, until I overheard their conversation:
“She’s always so sweaty. And have you seen her legs? Why is she so hairy?”
I was mortified. I had never even thought about the hair on my legs until hearing there was too much of it. Then it became all I could think about. I would have plucked every individual hair off my legs if that’s what it took to get those words out of my head. But luckily it didn’t come to that…my big sis had me covered. I told Ashley I wanted to shave but didn’t know how.
“It’s ok, Jack. Go put on a bathing suit, I’ll teach you.”
In our bathing suits, my sister and I went into my parent’s walk-in shower and she showed me how to hold a razor, where to shave and, much more importantly, where not to shave. It took quite a few tries and quite a few cuts but I walked out of the shower confident and ready to face my locker room bullies.
. . . . .
My parents never gave me the “sex talk” growing up. Being raised in a conservative Christian household, all discussions of the birds and the bees were firmly off limits. I was never allowed to date or watch any “scandalous” TV shows. Although my Catholic school’s definition of sex as “the bonding of God’s love between spouses” gave me a brief slightly inaccurate intro to basic sex ed, my understanding of sex was deeply limited for most of my life. That was until entering a public high school of over 4,000 students — many of whom were more than willing to openly discuss sex. And not in an educational sort of way.
So my big sister took it upon herself to teach me and Ashley while we three sisters sat in a dimly lit corner of a near-empty restaurant. All my immature, young 16-year old self wanted to do was plug my ears and run from a lesson most kids learned years before. But I fought the urge and tried my best to listen, and thank goodness I did because that was the first time I learned about consent. Who knows what college would be like if I didn’t know about consent and learned that it’s ok to say no to the many people who want something from you.
Cheryl told me it's ok to talk about sex and not feel ashamed like we were taught, and that I can come to her with any questions I have. She has been my source for relationship drama and girl talk ever since.
Ashley was always there to stand up for me when I was too shy, too hurt to stand up for myself.
On a bright Saturday morning over nine years ago, Ashley walked into my room to find her little sister sobbing in bed, head faced-down in a pillow. She sat down on the bed by my side and without saying a word, I showed her my phone. I received a series of mean texts from my closest friend at the time after asking if she wanted to come to my birthday party. My big sister hugged me and held me as I cried.
“She sucks, Jackie!! You don’t need a friend like her. She just wants to put you down to make herself feel better,” Ash tried to comfort me but I didn’t believe her.
I’ve been bullied all my life and when you’re mistreated over and over again, it becomes hard not to feed into what people say about you. I didn’t bother responding to her because all I could think about was what if she’s right? What if nobody likes me? Without me even realizing, Ashley had responded to my so called-friend on my behalf:
“You don’t deserve a friend like her. Do better or don’t even think about talking to my sister again,” the text read.
12-year-old me was distraught. I was so desperate for friendship that I was willing to put up with all kinds of mistreatment. But my sister wasn’t, she knew my worth long before I ever did.
My friend apologized the next day. We didn’t stay close friends for long, but it sure felt good to tell someone off even if it wasn’t me doing the talking. I never had the guts to stand up to my bullies as a kid, but Ashley was always there to stand up for me when I was too shy, too hurt to stand up for myself.
. . . . .
At the start of second year, I got into a bad tiff with my roommate who I considered a close friend at the time. But after a screaming match and a series of physical threats hurled against me, I no longer felt safe in my room. I spent the night in my car, and the next morning I spoke with my residential advisor and found a new place to live.
I moved only a few hundred feet away to another apartment in Lambeth, this time in a much bigger room with no roommates and a full kitchen. The only downside was three flights down to the ground floor and another three flights up to my new apartment. And I have a lot of stuff.
On my own, it would have taken me days to move it all in and I couldn’t bear to spend another night somewhere I knew I was unwanted and unsafe. Cheryl is the only family I have in Virginia and at this point in my life, she was the only person who I felt comfortable knowing what I had gone through.
With four hands, two bad backs and one busted knee between the both of us, we lugged my 150-pound fridge in the baking summer sun down three flights across the Lambeth courtyard and up another three flights. Contrary to popular belief, no one actually likes to help people move, especially when stairs are involved. But Cheryl was happy to be there for her sister in need, even taking extra loads when my muscles ached and my back gave out. She was, however, upset about one thing: I spent the night in my car instead of calling her.
“You should’ve told me!! You always have a place to stay with me, Jackie.”
She brought her friends along too, all dressed up and ready to trick or treat alongside me.
When I was in middle school, I didn’t have any close friends to spend Halloween with. As a 12-year-old candy lover, I wanted so desperately to don a cheesy costume and go house to house down every Rossmoor street. But I couldn’t go alone, and going with my parents was too embarrassing for my adolescent self to bear. Knowing how sad I’d be staying home alone on Halloween, my 16-year-old sister volunteered to take me trick or treating instead.
“Of course I’ll take you Jack! We’ll have so much fun dressing up together!”
Rather than going to a party as most high school juniors would, Ashley spent Halloween with her little sis. She brought her friends along too, all dressed up and ready to trick or treat alongside me — I felt like the coolest kid on the block hanging out with my big sis and her high school friends.
I can’t remember where we went or what I wore but it was one of my favorite Halloweens ever because I got to spend it with my best friend.
. . . . .
Last year, I decided to go to a semi-formal for University Democrats — a club that I was on the email list for but rarely actually attended weekly meetings. I wanted an excuse to go out and dress fancy for the night…and there was an open bar so how could I, as a legal 21-year-old, resist? I had a great time dancing and drinking my way through the night and meeting several new friends along the way, but when it came to closing time I had no one to help me get back to my apartment. Usually, a lack of companionship doesn’t prevent me from getting home safe but after a few too many, I was stumbling and fumbling my way down the Corner. Damn open bar.
I tried Uber, Lyft, and Saferide of course, but my phone seems to resist the Internet everywhere I go, and the dreaded loading symbol was all that appeared when opening these apps. I felt I had no choice but to brave the 30 minute walk to my apartment…I made it about fifty feet before plopping down on the planters next to Bodo’s Bagels.
I am not one to ask for help in moments of weakness. But with a spinning mind and legs that refused to function, I had no choice but to swallow my pride. I called a few friends who I thought might already be on the Corner. No response. I called my roommate, she was fast asleep. And then I called my big sis.
“I’m on my way Jack, I’ll be there in 5.” I have never been so thankful to hear her voice.
When she stumbled out of the Uber (also coming from a night out), I nearly cried. I’m going to be alright! I don’t have to sleep on the planters tonight!!
She got me home safe, making sure I had water before we both plopped down on my bed, exhausted from the short, unsteady walk from the Uber to my room. I woke up the next morning safe and sound in my own bed thanks to my big sis.
. . . . .
For the past six years, I’ve worn a silver bangle on my left wrist inscribed with the words “little sister.” Even when showering, swimming, or at the gym, I never take my bracelet off. It is my constant reminder that I have people who care about and support me through every phase of my 21 years of life. No matter what friendship troubles I’m facing or what relationship drama comes my way, I will always have Ashley and Cheryl to get me through it all…and I am the luckiest little sister in the whole world to be able to call them my big sisters.
