Krista, my Sista

We were born three years apart, me first in September and her in October. Initially, she was a pest, constantly in my space, following me, mimicking me, oblivious to my desire to be left alone, at least occasionally. As we traversed childhood, we found more in common than not. She loved to play sports, excelling in softball and tennis, and we both grew strong on a steady diet of Frito pies and Chick-O-Stix at the dusty Texas ball fields. She got outnumbered when my brother was born but she more than held her own, proving her mettle consistently in the two-on-one battles. We shared dreams and concerns, especially when our little brother decided to use the encyclopedias for bedtime reading, worried that his blooming nerdiness would evaporate any Colle cool that we had created when he reached high school. We like to think we steered him toward a happy medium and made him the man he is today. (High five!)

High school brought about a lot of change and, with it, less time together—a move from Texas to Florida, my leaving home for college, marriages, kids, moving to different parts of the country and all the other life events that happen as we keep moving forward. And she has had her share of life events, testing that mettle that was forged so early. She was strong then and she is stronger now. She has survived, tenacious and brave, a great mom and a loyal wife.

Today she celebrates a birthday, a milestone, from the fours to the fives, and I have, as before, paved the way, letting her know that it’s okay to turn that corner. The water is warm and the chicken is boiled and we are all a little more appreciative of a quiet house and a smooth Bordeaux. Happy birthday, Krista my sista. I love you and am proud of you and I look forward to waving you through to the sixes and beyond. 

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