Four young girls beamed through the glossy finish of a faded black–and–white photo. The image captured us four sisters — the "big girls" and the "little girls" — at our home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, some 40 years ago. As I leafed through the yellowed scrapbook, nostalgia swept over me. Too much time had gone by since our last reunion.
Our pose created a square. My older sisters stood behind my baby sister, Debby, and me. They formed the top left and right corners while we younger girls formed the lower ones.
Unknowingly, we also grouped by personality. On the left side of the photo, bespectacled, teen–aged Suzy proudly stood behind me. During childhood, Suzy's and my personalities were so similar that one could suspect cloning. She was respectful, obedient, organized and studious. And so was I. Teachers loved us because we always did our homework (neatly, of course), excelled on exams and rarely created mischief.
On the right side of the picture, Bonnie, a tomboy with long blonde tresses, firmly held Debby's shoulder to keep her from wriggling free before the photo was snapped. The two of them also shared prominent traits. Both were effervescent, carefree, creative and sometimes rebellious. The house throbbed with gatherings of Bonnie's friends. In the family room, a table overflowed with Debby's button collection and drawings in progress.
We four sisters were duplicate sets separated by five years. Friends and family simply called us the "big girls" and the "little girls."
Besides categorizing us by age, these nicknames carried assumptions about maturity and responsibility. In later years, it didn't matter that I sold industrial products to billion-dollar companies or that Debby was the mother of three daughters. Our older sisters still viewed us as "little girls" who needed coddling. At reunions, Suzy invariably reminded us, "I used to change your diapers." She was happiest when she could step into her big sister role. The Christmas that I got an ear infection, she cooed lovingly as she dropped medicine in my ears.
When each of us left home to start our adult lives, vast distances separated us. Our parents' home acted as a magnet, pulling us together from distant cities for holidays and special events. Through the years, professions and locales molded and changed our individual orientations toward life. Adulthood diluted the personality characteristics we had shared as children. In some cases, we held diametrical positions on controversial political and social issues. Had we been strangers meeting each other for the first time at a social function, we would have either heatedly debated the topics or bolted for the exit.
But we were sisters, not strangers. During our short times together, we set aside our disparate opinions to honor the precious gift we shared: a wholesome family headed by loving parents. Sharing the day's highlights over home-cooked dinners,
attending Christmas Eve candlelight services and other family rituals reinforced our sisterly bond.
The dynamics of our reunions changed after our mother's death. Dinner conversations weren't quite the same without pot roast seasoned with Mom's love. But we still gathered every two years.
Now that our father has died, there's no longer a family home to pull us together. Plans for a reunion within the first year stalled when we couldn't agree on time and place. A second year passed by.
Then a nephew did us a favor. He announced his wedding date. Soon the Internet buzzed with our e-mails zipping back and forth, making plans not only to attend the wedding but also to extend our stays for a sisters' reunion. Two months after I discovered the black-and-white photo, the four of us were together sharing intimacies and memories during strolls on the beach, poolside conversations and dinners out.
I noticed something different in how we interacted. Without our parents, the family structure had leveled. This time all four of us related as peers. Now, we were all simultaneously "big girls" and "little girls," giving and receiving affectionate attention as one adult to another.
Before departing, we posed for a photo. At first, we stood side-by-side with our arms
around each other, just as we had for every other snapshot in our adult years. This occasion, though, called for a special pose — the square of our childhood photo. Perched on the back of a wooden bench, the "big girls" rested their hands on the shoulders of the "little girls" sitting at their feet. Middle–aged, we smiled broadly at the camera, this time knowingly celebrating the indestructible bond that ties us — our sisterhood.
