My sister's watcher

“Of two sisters one is always the watcher, one the dancer.” 
― Louise Glück

My little sister just turned 20. It was 20 years ago I was so happy to finally have my wish of a little sister come true. Be careful what you wish for sometimes. I still remember the day she was born, how she was obsessively attached to her pacifier until she was 3 and a half and how she ate handfuls of sand the first time she went to the beach.

Being eight years apart in age and lightyears away in thinking presents many challenges for sisters - even more than others endure. I watched her when my mom went back to work and I watched her grow up. I've watched her go through every phase imaginable — every hair color, new piercing and angry punk band.

I've been happy to watch her talents bloom and to watch her try to find out who she is — who she will be. I watched her walk across the stage to get her high school diploma and play her first gig. My husband taught her her first chords on the guitar and watched her take off on her own.

Some things I witnessed I hoped were phases, but years later there are still undesirable parts of her that remain. Parts I will never understand. I guess I should just be thankful that she at least doesn't listen to the Spice Girls anymore and doesn't pick at her underwear in public.

She does still pitch a fit when she doesn't get her way. She says things that hurt the ones who love her most. She has the most unrealistic sense of entitlement. Sometimes I wonder how we can even have the same parents. She won't heed my advice.

I can't say it's all bad. We have shared countless laughs, countless shots and embarrassing moments. I'm so proud of her for knowing what she wants to do and moving to Delaware to get the best education she can for the career she wants. But I know she still has a long way to go. She's not there yet. She wants to act like an adult when it is convenient for her but act like a child when she needs something.

I know I push too hard at times. I never hesitate to say what I'm thinking. I know the mistakes she is making, but I should know I can't stop her from them. She hates my input — until she needs it. I rarely feel like her sister but more like a naggy mom or aunt.

But what choice do I have? You would think it would be easy for me to throw my hands up and stop trying to be the helper. I should accept the fact that her life is her own now. I'm the watcher after all — one sister has to be. She will keep dancing — oblivious to those around watching her every move and just hoping she won't fall.

But when she does, I will be there to pick her up, dust her off and tell her to get her ass back out there.