Somewhere buried in the boxes of VHS tapes at my parents' house, there is a video of my sister and I dancing in the bathtub. Ashley loudly hummed the tune to Für Elise as our shampoo caps became tutus and four circle-shaped bathtub blocks became our bikini tops. We tiptoed in a circle around the tub. Ashley directed our bathtub ballet. Our sobriety and the earnestness of our imaginative play only elicited more of my mama's beautiful laughter.
My sister has always possessed an eye for magic. She has a knack for seeing tutus instead of shampoo caps and slip n' slides instead of trash bags.
Growing up, we eagerly anticipated summertime. Ashley would line up large garbage bags, squeeze out an entire bottle of dawn dish soap, and leave the hose running for hours as we reveled on our homemade slip ‘n slide. Alabama summers consisted of frequent visits to the snow cone vendor in the Delchamps Grocer parking lot and dancing in the neighborhood sprinklers with blades of grass sticking to our ankles.
Siblings are tricky business. As a child, I loved and hated my sister. In my eyes, she was the strong one, the brave one, the beautiful one, and I felt as if I were trapped in the shadow of something extraordinary. Yet her greatness did not come without its consequences. She received the blame whenever our plans went south. She would take on our punishment without tears. She would never expose her weakness, and she rarely admitted my complicity. I coveted her, resented her, emulated her, and adored her all at the same time.
Ashley's journey has been incomprehensibly difficult, and over the past ten years, outsiders have been quick to pass judgement, but this truth I have known since the days of bathtub ballets, Ashley is stronger than I am. Her eye for beauty inspires me, and her resilience challenges my understanding of what it means to overcome. She has fought tremendously hard for the ground that she now stands upon firmly, and she is one of the greatest gifts that God granted me upon entry into this life. I owe so much of who I am to the little girl who fashioned a slip n slide from trash bags and dawn dish soap.
Siblings are tricky business. As a child, I loved and hated my sister. In my eyes, she was the strong one, the brave one, the beautiful one, and I felt as if I were trapped in the shadow of something extraordinary. Yet her greatness did not come without its consequences. She received the blame whenever our plans went south. She would take on our punishment without tears. She would never expose her weakness, and she rarely admitted my complicity. I coveted her, resented her, emulated her, and adored her all at the same time.
Ashley's journey has been incomprehensibly difficult, and over the past ten years, outsiders have been quick to pass judgement, but this truth I have known since the days of bathtub ballets, Ashley is stronger than I am. Her eye for beauty inspires me, and her resilience challenges my understanding of what it means to overcome. She has fought tremendously hard for the ground that she now stands upon firmly, and she is one of the greatest gifts that God granted me upon entry into this life. I owe so much of who I am to the little girl who fashioned a slip n slide from trash bags and dawn dish soap.