Giving Thanks: Lil' Sis

The turkey has been put away, the mashed potatoes enjoyed and the plans for Christmas decorations drawn; yes, another Thanksgiving has come to a close.

My family and I arose before dawn, served our soup and thanked God for all that he has given us. After our good deeds, we braced ourselves for another chapter of amateur athletic competition. It has become a Jones family Thanksgiving tradition that we compete prior to our yearly feast. Around 2 o’clock, our guests and the four of us head out to the local field and line up with a pigskin in between us, and every year, we fight my Dad and try to convince him to call the game off. The women don’t want to play, my cousins produce notes from their dive coach (they’re on a Big Ten school’s team) and my sister and I just roll our eyes. But every year my father prevails, and every year we head home an hour later hungry and happy from the friendly game.

Yesterday, however, we did not go home happy, and our hunger was a bit dampened by the first injury in the long history of our Turkey Bowl. Lil’ Sis was defending on a long ball, got tangled with one of my cousins as they both leaped for the pass, and ended up spraining her ankle. I stood there watching her writhe in pain, and my heart went out to her. I have suffered more ankle injuries than I can count, and the first one was the worst; the pain is unbearable, plus you are embarrassed that a simple leap in the air has left you a blithering lump on the cold, damp ground and you fear what the trip to the doctor will bear. A big brother never likes to see his baby sister cry, never likes to see her hurt, and never wants to know a situation in which he cannot help her.

She spent the day in doctors’ offices, awaiting X-rays and a prognosis. It ended up being merely a sprain, but she’ll be on crutches for a few days while the swelling subsides. I spent the day with the women, namely my aunt, grandmother and mother. Mostly they talked, and I listened. My mother and aunt did what they always do; talk about their kids and families and reminisce about the past. They were talking about friends they’d lost because of their jobs, marriages and children, and all the people that have come in and out of their life. But despite all the changes, my aunt mentioned that she still had her sisters, something I found incredibly poetic. I am always thankful for my family and our home, but this year in particular, I truly appreciated coming home for the holidays because I do not know what the future holds for me. I may not spend the holidays with my family next year, and I may not always be so near to come calling whenever I wish.

The conversation got me thinking about my sister and what she means to me. The years have fallen away, and they have taken our childish sibling rivalry along with them. I have told her before about my appreciation for her valuable advice on girls and dating, but my affection for her is due to more than that. I have grown to admire her, and it hurt to see her reduced to pain yesterday. She has told me countless times that she looks up to me, but she has grown and matured and earned the same respect from me. She really isn’t my baby sister anymore; she is a strong, smart, gifted woman. I always longed for a younger brother to toss a ball around with, but I am eternally grateful that the good Lord gave my parents a daughter to tell me how to dress. My sister will always hold a special place in my heart, like my aunts do in my mother’s, but to a greater degree, because she is all I have in the way of siblings. She understands me like no one else can, because she knows where I come from and by whom I was raised. She can make me smile as easily as she can make me scream in frustration, a special gift all little sisters possess. And while our time as neighbors has long passed, it will always be imprinted on my soul, along with her, no matter the distance the wind, or some boy, takes her from me.