It was a dark and stormy day, last year in December, and one that I will never forget. 

Actually it was sunny and beautiful, how Miami usually is, but the news my little sister received that day made it forever gloomy in my mind. She was a senior, applying to schools and getting ready for college. 

Here’s a little backstory: her and I were born into a house-divided family. My father is a UF-alum who lives and breathes the Gators. He owns every single article of clothing available in Gator gear (including a belt and a questionable pair of shorts). He practically cries orange and blue tears when the Gators lose, and raised my sisters and I as tried-and-true Gator girls. I probably came out of the womb doing the Gator Chomp…

We were conditioned to always refer to Gainesville as “Titletown” and
to vomit at the sight of the hated colors garnet and gold. We each donned a Gators cheerleading uniform at one point, and made it to Gator Growl every year. My older sister made him proud by going to UF, but he of course was quite disappointed when I decided to attend UM, my proud mom’s alma-mater. 

“At least it’s not FSU,” he’d tell me, sighing and shaking his Gator
cap-clad head. After two years of countless ibises and my seemingly perennial throwing up of “The U,” my dad finally accepted his daughter’s Hurricane conversion. 

“We do share one color dad,” I’d always tell him, “and our hate for
the Seminoles.” Orange and disgust for the Noles was something we always had in common, despite our colleges of choice. 

So you could imagine the heaviness in his heart, and in mine, when
the baby of the family decided she actually wanted to attend the common enemy: FSU. My dad was never prepared for his daughter to join the dark side and become a God-forsaken Seminole. 

So on this dreary day, as my sister ripped open a thick Florida State
University letter…I cringed, readying myself for the worst. I could practically hear my dad’s heart break when my sister yelled, “I’m officially a Nole!!!” I could’ve sworn I saw a little bit of orange and blue tear up in his eyes. 

I don’t know if she decided to do this in order to hurt her family,
but I found myself in a rented mini van with my parents and the newly-minted Nole, on the way to the dreaded Tallahassee to drop the baby off at college. I had never stepped foot in enemy territory before, but I made sure to do so in my Hurricanes cap and shirt. My dad wanted to please my mom but still wore something orange each day in a small act of rebellion (she made him take off his Gators cap.) 

After three long days of too much garnet, gold, Seminole pride and
that stupid hand chop thing, I left Tallanasty feeling relieved. Not just because I could go back to my beloved U, but because I noticed throughout that weekend that my sister was actually really happy there. 

Why? I can’t tell you. There’s something about jorts and crab thieves
that just doesn’t do it for me. But as long as my sister’s happy, I’m happy. I’ll make sure to show her what being a Cane is all about when she comes home this weekend. And though we’ll be wearing different colors and making very different hand gestures, she’ll still be my baby sister home for the weekend, and my best friend. I’ll just try not to make her feel too bad about the school she chose.