Hope is a Dream that Never Sleeps

My baby sister is seventeen today. Seventeen. There’s an Archie comic I read for the first time when I was twelve or thirteen. Archie was seventeen and he was depressed about it. He was more than halfway through his teen years and he wondered what there was to look forward to after the teen years. I remember being relieved that I was in the early stages of my teen years.

I’m 22 now and I can confidently say that there’s so much to look forward to after the teen years.

I don’t remember this, but my parents often tell me the story of when I was around four years old. Our family went to the temple with two other families and I prayed aloud, “Please give me a little sister to play with.”

And I got one.

We never fought, not in the same way that a lot of other siblings I know fight. I’ve always trusted her completely, and she’s proved herself to be deserving of that trust, over and over and over again.

I remember how cute and doll-like she was when she was little - a tiny thing with big dimples. I remember the way she couldn’t pronounce the word “concentration.” I remember the way she would get mad if my mom and I went anywhere without her. I remember the way she always wanted to do anything that I did. I remember the way I had to invent crazy stories about a parallel Earth to get her to leave me alone even for a little while.

Now she’s nearly an adult. She’s grown up to be smart, sharp, fiercely independent. She’s fearless about trying new things, a quality I admire so much. She’s delightfully quirky and likable - as demonstrated by the armful of presents and baked goods she got from her friends at school today.

I couldn’t have asked for a better sister.