I had the great privilege of watching my “little” sister graduate with a degree that technically makes her “smarter” than me because she has more graduate “credits”. Truthfully, I’m quite proud.
I held her the day she was born, my 6-year old arms more than strong enough to cradle her but clumsy enough to clunk her baby head on the metal arm rest of the hospital chair.
Our parents let me share in the duty* of changing her diapers and filling her bottles. Mom once said “I hope you’re not jealous of your baby sister.” Not ever. I loved her. Still do.
I vividly remember watching her first day of kindergarten from my concerned big brother eyes. She seemed far too excited about going to school, as if it was about more than just tater tots.
She almost went to Wayne State but ended up at Spring Arbor. I would have been thrilled for her either way, but the fact that she will always be a Cougar serves as an effective conversation starter.
I stood there, in shock, watching Paco walk down the aisle toward her soon to be husband. How wonderful and strange.
I sat there yesterday and listened to a wandering commencement speech about prosthetic legs and involvement with government. Her name was called. We cheered as she crossed the stage and shook hands with someone wearing what looked like judges pajamas.
Consider the mysterious stack of events that make a life. I clunked her head and changed her diapers. I warned her about the rusty playground swings at Douglas Elementary. I helped with the marriage ceremony. And now she’s a master social worker. My little sister — my Don Paco — is all MSW’d. Of course she’s in social work. I’m her brother.
She did good. I’m proud.