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The other day, I used my Good Morning Polk message to pay tribute to my mother on her birthday, and the season continues today with my sister being the latest to celebrate.
We have The Birthday Season in my family, a stretch of time when three weeks of cake and presents usher end the close of winter and beginning of spring, usually with some sort of craziness happening by the time my birthday come around.
Kendall on the other hand gets to play it safe right in between Mom’s extravaganza and my reminder of the importance of disaster preparedness.
My sister, being a few years older than me, lives in DC with her husband, daughter and son, and they are probably some of the coolest people I know.
I would be slightly more expansive about my sister, but we have this unspoken agreement that I don’t dig into that particular garden too deeply. Mostly because I’m not one to want to exploit tmnt niece and nephew.
I will at least tell a story – one of my favorite from South Carolina days before she graduated and went off to college – involving a trip to Dairy Queen.
At random times during our teenaged years, Kendall and I would declare temporary peace between our older sister/younger brother styled Cold War and after school would find something to do together. She was 16 or 17 at the time, and commanded the keys to the family’s Isuzu Trooper we lovinginly called The Wookie, due to its constantly squeaking brakes.
Our short-lived truce between our households that afternoon was being celebrated at a Dairy Queen on Lady’s Island, South Carolina, and we had combined our pocket change to make the purchase.
This part of the story requires some bit of a description of my sister. We had at the time a similar facial structure and height. She’s under five feet in height.
At, I dunno, 13 at the time I’d not yet hit that summer growth spurt and reached my “average” height, so was around the same size.
At first, I’ll admit the feeling of being “that guy who pays in pennies” was weighing heavy on my conscious. The poor cashier was going to spend a decent amount of time counting it all out.
We were ordering our delicious frozen treats when that feeling completely changed. The cashier, probably a grade or so above Kendall at Beaufort High School, made a fatal mistake. She asked if we were twins.
Suffice to say, no measure of guilt has ever crossed my mind again when pocket change is what I have left to pay for a couple gallons of gas to get me home.
Twins. Pft.
Happy birthday, sis! May you enjoy this day with some soft serve and remembering old times fondly.
-Kevin the Editor