28 Pounds

Although I am an only child, I have a pseudo sister.

When I was twelve years old, a new family moved in across the street. I offered my services as a babysitter for their two-year old daughter and infant son. I was a safe option, with my parents right across the street. I babysat for them a lot. They also spent a lot of time with my parents. When my dad would come home from work, the daughter would stand on the sidewalk and scream across the street, "Paulie, I weigh 28 pounds."

My mother went through a tough time when I headed off to college. Luckily, my sister was there. She helped decorate the Christmas tree and she hung out. She loved (and still loves) hanging out in the kitchen with my mother.

When she was a teenager, we grilled her about everything. Boys, school, sex, politics, etc. I would've run away screaming but she put up with us.

She was in a horrible car accident in her late teens -- we honestly didn't know if she would survive. My mother went to the hospital and later the rehab place every day. No one (with the possible exception of her parents) prayed harder than my mother. She survived and thrived.

Today, she's married and the mother of three. She and my mother have lots of rituals and traditions that have nothing to do with me. They have standing dates for certain tv shows. She and my mother make all of the Christmas candy. They regularly go for gas station cappuccinos. I find it amusing that they have so much in common because none of this interests me. They invite me sometimes. I decline.

I pulled her aside once and said, "Please don't ever hurt my parents." I now realize how dumb that was. They're her parents too. She's my sister.