To the Feisty One,
I remember the day you were born. You took forever to arrive. I entertained myself with a plastic gorilla I’d found in the hospital waiting room.
When you eventually got here, you couldn’t do too much. I was presented with a black and white tiger Beanie Baby “from you”–how kind. Then I asked Mom and Dad when you would be able to play.
You took forever again but, one day, that was all you wanted to do…You were a ball of ecstatic, joyous fury and the world had to know it.
Soon enough it was cartwheels on the beach, basking in our topsy-turvy view of the world. We ran and danced on dirty toes and chicken legs for days, kicking up the sand.
It was screaming matches and slamming doors, but then Abba dance parties and chocolate chip cookies strewn across the counter–a team effort, I claimed, as I sat back watching, taste-testing the dough. Then a chick flick, our ancient grey couches, and no need for conversation.
When you and your friends taunted my teenage self snuggled on that same couch, boy’s arm around my shoulders, I turned red hot in fury. And I nearly boiled over when you broke into my closet time and time again for that shirt I just bought. There wasn’t enough space in the world, it seemed.
A few years later, though, I was itching to return the favour (still am, still do).
Soon it was ice cream pints in the car, the dog in the back seat. A dirt road and your mischievous smile-“Can I try?” Fearing for my life, I let you slip behind the wheel. We survived but I almost killed myself laughing.
There were times I couldn’t comprehend what might be going through your head and others that were so recognizable, they might as well have been my thoughts too.
These days, the former increasingly makes room for the latter. Give me a lazy afternoon or a drink downtown, and we can hash them out–or forget about them altogether.
Some days, it’s like looking in a mirror–or to a time capsule a few year’s past. Other’s, it’s like watching a cactus lay roots in the rainforest, while I sit desperate to shake some God damn sense into its prickly little being.
And still, there are many that feel like watching someone summit a peak, hoping I eventually end up there too.
So thank you, Feisty One. It’s a pleasure to share this crazy stuff called DNA.