Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Anxiety

Griffin is graduating from eighth grade tomorrow. Based on the dread you probably know I have regarding his growing up (if necessary, you can catch up here), you probably think I'm a basket case. Surprisingly, I'm not. Surprisingly, I'm not upset about it at all. Yes, Griffin graduating from eighth grade means he'll be starting high school in two months, and Griffin starting high school in two months means he's one step closer to college, and Griffin being one step closer to college means he's one step closer to leaving home, and Griffin being one step closer to leaving home essentially means he's one step closer to leaving me, but that doesn't sadden me. At least not today.

What it does do, though, is force me to think about the passage of time. It forces me to think about the fact that my son is thirteen--thirteen!--and a mere two months away from fourteen. It then forces me, since his birthday is in the summer, to think about other summer birthdays, and when I think of other summer birthdays, the first one that comes to mind is my sister's; after all, ever since I've been on this earth, her birthday has been a part of my summer.

And you know what?

This summer's birthday is a big one.

This summer's birthday is a milestone.

This summer's birthday is  
(omgomgomgomg)
40.

Did you see that?

Did you comprehend it??

Do you understand???

My sister is turning 40.

My sister, who used to wear crazy leopard-skin-patterned spandex and concert shirts, is turning 40.

My sister, who used to try to smother me with a pillow when I snored too loudly, is turning 40.

She
who used to ride her bike to the mud track with me
who slept with a snake cube in the shape of a cross after seeing Salem's Lot
who used to dress up, alongside me, in her ice skating dress, and pretend she was in an evening gown
who used to sit with me, looking at catalogs from JC Penney and Spiegel and Burdines, planning every single detail of our house down to the place mats
who threw herself on the ground and tore up her Bon Jovi ticket because my dad wouldn't let us see them at the Sportatorium for Slippery When Wet
who lost her virginity while I was in the same room
who shared her first apartment with me
who had her heart broken by fuckface Bily Bowin
who went to Antonio's for pizza once and disappeared for over 8 hours
who used to come home from school and tell me about the cute boy named Paul who liked her Megadeth shirt
who used to go to the Edge with me almost every week and sometimes fall asleep
who once got so sunburned after slathering up with baby oil, she drenched her body in milk
who loved Scott Baio and Simon LeBon
who panicked and abandoned me at Hollywood beach after I passed out on the broadwalk
who danced with me on the bar at the Shuckums Christmas party
who sings Kiki Dee to my Elton John
who taught me the Chantilly Lace dance
is turning 40.

My sister, who's a mere 17 months and 3 days older than I, will be 40.
Soon.

How, I ask--
how can this be? 

How can it be that in 77 days--that's less than 3 months, people--my sister, hallmark of my childhood, symbol of my youth, who will forever be an awkward preteen blow drying the curls out of her hair beyond repair, will turn 40?

And what does that mean for me?

(Shh--don't speak.)

2 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Actually, it's not. It's broad. But thanks for playing.

      Delete