Sibling Rivalry

 

I was happy to grow up with Marianne.

She took care of me.

She made everything more fun.

She climbed into bed with me and put her arms around me when I cried because life was awful in 6th grade.

Before any new experience:  junior high, college, girls' camp she'd tell me in detail what to expect to allay my fears.

She helped me learn the scripture mastery scriptures on the way to seminary.  She taught me all the words to the songs she knew because our car didn't have a working radio.  She helped me pass biology 100 at BYU by prepping me before every test (I was distracted by Adam during class and didn't listen).

life was more pleasant than our expressions in this picture would suggest

Marianne allowed me to tag along with her and her larger sphere of friends.  She set me up on dates when I visited her at college.  She paved the way for me, making everything easier.

It was wonderful to be her younger sister.

Except for when it wasn't.

She excelled in everything and I...didn't.

She got the lead in the school play and I...didn't get a part.

She won prizes for public speaking and I...didn't.

Our teachers wanted me to be more like her and I...wasn't.

She was a star basketball player and I...wasn't.

One night our school was in Eureka, NV for basketball games.  Before the game, I was walking into the gym.  I heard someone whisper furtively, "That's Marianne Dahl's sister."

We looked a lot alike.

Except she was six feet tall and I...wasn't.

In the basketball game, that night in Eureka, she scored something like 50 points and was in the USA Today the next day.

I wasn't.

In college I was in a memoir writing class.  I loved the class and one day convinced Marianne to go to the class (she was visiting me at BYU...home from her mission and waiting until the next semester to enroll).  There's something about a memoir class that creates a bond...and I wanted her to meet my class.

One boy looked at her with mistrust and an arched eyebrow.  He said, "So you're Marianne."  Later Marianne asked me what I'd written about her.  

I guess I had worked out some of my issues.

And soon enough we were equalized.  I was no longer the almost as good but not quite little sister.  We were wives and mothers and struggling through the same struggles.  I still look to her for advice and she even seeks my advice on a few topics.

But then.

Every once in awhile.

There it is again.

That sibling rivalry.

Looking on my splendid niece Desi's blog this morning, I saw the pictures Desi had posted of the Valentines she had made along with her siblings.  For their mother.  Marianne.

Emma, the bright spot of thoughtfulness in my trio of children had made me a simple Valentine.

Braeden told me after church on Sunday that he'd been given some candy during Sunday School.  He'd considered giving it me for a Valentine gift but then thought it would melt if he waited that long.

So he ate it.

I don't want to talk about it.

Nobody likes you, Marianne.

No. Bod.Y.

Except your children (obviously), and everyone that knows you (of course),

and me.

I love you and always will.

I can't help it.