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Extra info for Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Sisters: A Collection in Words and Photographs
On top of the quilt was a card: To my baby sister—my first pick. René J. Manley TWO ROCKERS My sister has two rockers. She lives in Tennessee And when I go to visit her We rock and sip on tea. The color of her rockers? A dusty shade of blue. They’re on the porch, beside the door Where all the folks walk through. At times we both drink Passionfruit. At times we sip Earl Grey, As on the porch we rock and watch The seasons pass away. We’ve talked about our children We’ve laughed and cried together We’ve sat with sun upon our laps We’ve rocked in rainy weather.
The two of us posed in frozen uncertainty for a minute, then my adoring little sister looked up at me expectantly. I looked at the creepy monster. Terror must have rooted him to the spot because he hadn’t moved a muscle. Holding my breath, I was stretching one finger forward to give the frog a good poke when the totally unexpected happened. He attacked, lunging straight for my face and leaving us with no other option than to scream and run away. We dove into the backseat, slammed the door shut and sat glumly, contemplating our failure during the ride into town.
If my sister started to enjoy the special privileges that came with her seniority, I’d beg to be included on her agenda. At times, I drove her crazy. Since our shared closet connected our bedrooms, I could hide on my side and open her door ever so gently to find out how she was dressing for the day. Then I would scramble to imitate her style. For such an intelligent girl, it took her a while to figure out how I could successfully copy her. Whether they do so consciously or not, parents usually label their children.