“She ruins everything!” I said to my mom when I was six and my big sister bumped into an art project I’d been working on all day.
And again when I was twelve and she wanted to hang out with me and my friends at my slumber party.
And again when I was seventeen and she snuck upstairs when I was watching a movie with a boyfriend.
Being fourteen months younger than my sister with Down syndrome wasn’t always easy. We were a grade apart in school, in a town where everyone knew everyone else. I was occasionally referred to as “Syble’s sister” instead of by my own name. When people made jokes about the kids on the short bus or “retards” I had to decide if I was going to stand up for my sister and bring more attention to myself or just let it go. And even at home, I tried to be perfect and low maintenance to make up for the extra work and attention my parents had to put into her.
