Age Perception by Carolyn

Today is my sister’s birthday. I will not say how old she is, but

I will say that she is older than I am. I am younger than she is.

I was talking about her upcoming birthday with my father the other
day. (He always seems surprised to hear how old we are turning.
I think he considers us still kids - of course that makes him much
younger, too.) I mentioned to him that she used to be happy to be
older than me. Now not so much.

When we were children and teenagers, she lorded it over me, rubbing

it in my face that she was older and I was younger. She had a later
bedtime and more freedom. She never let me forget it. She did everything
first. She went to school, learned to read, went on sleepovers, wore makeup,

shaved her legs, went to the mall with friends, dated, drove a car -

everything first!

When you are young, being older seems to be something to wish for -

we wish to be old enough to spend the night with a friend, or go to camp,

or start school, or date, or drive, or . . . whatever. So much of childhood is

filled with wanting to “bigger” so you can hit the next milestone, kind of like

going to Disneyland and not being quite tall enough on the chart that tells

you, “You must be this tall to ride.”

Things kind of even out in the middle of your life. It doesn’t really matter

who is older and who is younger. You all get to do the adult things you

have yearned to do since you were a kid. You find out adulting is not quite

as much fun as you expected it to be, or maybe just in a different way. You

have all of the perks and the responsibilities of being grown up. Your exact

age isn’t really that important for a few decades. (Although I will admit that

I have never passed up a chance to tell people that my sister is older than

I am since I was out of my 20s!)

Then, at some point, age differences become important again, but differently.

Nowadays, my sister is not so happy to be the older sister. I, however, am

pretty excited about being the younger sister. I take every opportunity to

mention it. I even tell waiters, store clerks, and complete strangers. It is part

of my spiel when I introduce her to people I know. I work it into conversations

in social settings. What goes around comes around.

Whatever joy I derive from being younger than my older sister must be
tempered by the knowledge that we are both getting older and less spry.
We have made a pact to take care of each other as we age. We will take turns
helping each other recover from various surgeries and illnesses. She will help
me put my compression stockings on (a job I happen to know she really enjoys!);
I will help her get up out of the recliner. She will help me find my dentures; I will
help her brush her hair. The infirmities of aging come to all of those who remain
alive. I am heartened by the idea that I will be facing that phase of our lives with
my dear older sister.

Whatever our ages, I am so thankful to have her in my life!