I was eleven years old when my mother came home with a blonde-haired, blue eyed ball of frailty that was my baby sister. “Are you excited to be a big sister?” My grandmother had asked, which only made me realize how terrified I was.

Eleven years older than my sister, my first reaction could have been one centered around disappointment. What was I supposed to do with a baby sister? I couldn’t play with her! She couldn’t walk, talk or join my brother and I on our adventures in the Great Outdoors. She couldn’t enjoy my favorite foods with me or understand the movies that I was interested in. All she seemed to do was cry, eat and make a mess.

However, as I matured, I realized how important my sister was becoming in my life. I was blessed to have a sibling that was significantly younger than me.

In High School, I always came home to a smiling, bright-eyed face no matter how horrible my day was. I remember a number of awfuls days at school, where I had forgotten my homework, didn’t enjoy what was for lunch or gotten into a fight with my best friend. My brother, who’s only a year younger than I, couldn’t always make me happy on the bus and I couldn’t help but mope as I walked up the driveway on those long days. My glasses would be smudged with tears as I trudged up the front porch steps. I would open the door to my house, dreading my mother and father’s questions about my school day.

“Joey!” My sister was the one who greeted me on a particular dreadful evening. My mother took one look at me and I realize now that she knew my day had been a bad one. She continued talking to my brother about school while my sister raised her arms and screamed “Lift me up!” I picked her chubby toddler body up and she hugged onto me, pushing as much warmth and happiness into me as her tiny soul could manage.

Throughout High School, I must admit that I got annoyed with my little sister and didn’t play with her as much as I would like to say I did. However, my sister is the only one who could brighten up my day sometimes. She never refused a hug while I was dripping in pool water from my swim meets although I would complain when I had to give her a bath and she would splash my clothes. She screamed for me as I played sports although I couldn’t tell you what she was doing in school or dance or gymnastics sometimes.

I’m a nineteen year old sophomore college student now. My days are full and anxiety-ridden, but a call from my eight year old sister can clear my mind. I’ve learned so much from having a sibling that’s so much younger than me, including patience and how to take a breather. My sister is teaching me to become more and more selfless every day. She is teaching me to not let go of my inner child as well. Life should be a fun experience.

When my sister was brought home from the hospital that morning eight years ago, I was upset that I wouldn’t have a sister to play with. I soon found out, however, that I would be given much more.

My sister, who is eleven years younger than me, is my best friend.