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My Sister Tells All

October 28, 2009

I’ve been swamped lately, and my poor blog has been neglected.  So, in lieu of me posting about myself, I am going to delegate, and let my sister tell you all about me. I’ve asked my little sister Marisa to write a bit about what it was like being my sibling (she’s three years younger) and here is her unedited tale. (P.S. This made me both want to kill her, and cry because she is such a wonderful sister.  And apparently, we both use a lot of Yiddish. I linked to definitions where appropriate. )

You should only know… what I know- because I lived it with her

Being Erica’s fabled little sister, ( not one of the little cute ones, the one with the iron trap memory for post mother’s day brunch recaps) has been… eventful. yes- I choose eventful.

Erica was my protector against memories of a bellydancing step mother, my seat in my father’s 2 seater corvette, the one who walked me home from school when my babysitter quit mid-session and most importantly the one who would take the less favorable colors whenever we were offered gifts. What more could a little sister ask for- really?

Little Erica was just a smaller statured version of the girl before you. A little blonde smart mouth kid with a vocabulary that made adults uncomfortable. She wore what was laid out for her, tripped over everything, made crummies everywhere, in seats she wasn’t even sitting at…seriously, it’s a gift. As you would imagine Erica was no ordinary child, in fact the ordinary children on the block fashioned a weak booby trap for Erica to fall into… she never did fall down there, hell she never even got out there. There, was outside, in the sun, away from her books and her rice pudding.

When I was 7 and Eri was 10, I would be in the pool till I would wrinkle. My sister would be dressed under the umbrella doing a Games magazine and SPF 100 on her face.  Erica was mature. She hung out with the adults, made meaningful comments in their conversations and shpatzired with the best of them.

At night after I would go to bed Erica would stay up with my mom and her friend working on their mock coffee clatch cast of Linda Richman (from SNL) style characters. In the morning my 10 year old sister, now called Sadie Chatchkawitz , would teach me new stanzas from the Kvetch Anthem  , a vaudeville style showtune she and my mom worked on chronicling the life of their alter ego altakakas, “would it kill their kids to call? Thank god for Anacin at least my hands wont shake!” Erica Age 10. (ed. note: I still have all of the lyrics. Mom would make us sing this all the time. We taught it to our friends.)

Erica was super smart and all of her friend’s parents’ favorite. She won the spelling bee in 4th grade. Made killer dioramas, and wasn’t trying to sneak liquor out of their cabinets (Ed. note: Yes, I did.) Boy were we all shocked when adolescent Erica veered way off course. Though Erica didn’t always fit in (see Erica in the Dance Project’s black light recital big number in –oops!- white socks) all of the sudden my Sally Jesse-glasses wearing sister traded in her sweater dress for a cape- set up an altar in her room and frequently left home for a place in the woods called “the pit” with a guy named Slash. The cute Bayside friends were swapped for pierced kids in capes and corsets who faces were shrouded under their cloaks by their manic-panicked hair. The nights they stayed over, the house smelled of old incense, and mom let me sleep in her room- with the lights on. “Its just a phase, Its just a phase Its just a phase.”

The next 10 years or so I think she was in her room, coming out only to trade barbs with grandma, take out her contacts, try one of mom’s breadcrumb surprises or to go to her boyfriend’s house.  Those were the lean years for us as sisters and though trips to the mall together were not on our agenda, Erica seemed indifferent to me sitting next to her while she watched Xena. And it was so….

My sister Erica is a quick witted pale nerd,  whose throat gurgles involuntarily, who cant tell time and who should probably be dressed in bubble wrap. She is my favorite search engine with a way better algorithm for suggesting books than Amazon! Erica has become a great cook and baker, who graciously shares her trials and takes requests. Erica is awesome. She is sweet, compassionate and PATIENT and above all a good friend and a great sister.


Marisa is a cry baby.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. October 28, 2009 3:16 pm


    This was sweet.

  2. Frank permalink
    October 28, 2009 3:46 pm


  3. October 29, 2009 11:12 am

    This is great. And I love the sprinkling of Yiddish words throughout. 🙂

  4. anita permalink
    November 2, 2009 2:17 pm

    Cute, frightening and touching. Not sure what order… :>)

    You MUST sing the Kvetch anthem when I see you next.

  5. November 3, 2009 8:14 am

    I sometimes wonder if oldest kids can ever really understand the way their younger siblings see them. My older sister has no clue how much I wanted to BE her when we were growing up, despite my always being a pain in her butt, and despite my trying to tell her the truth now that we’re adults. She and my older brother were like minor deities as far as I was concerned! It doesn’t mean that I didn’t see their faults also, ( I could write my own stories about their puzzling teenage behavior) but overall, they were always amazing to me.

    It’s really cool that you sister did this for you, and you got to see things through her eyes.

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