I have always loved having big sisters. Four girls, and I'm the one to make it a complete set. My spot is the catbird seat. Yes, I suffered plenty of psychological torture, but sheer idol worship always won out in the end.
They were my babysitters and camp counselors, and on highlight days they were even my playmates. We sang together and made fairy houses in the roots of old trees. They snuck in Hostess cupcakes during the sugar embargo. I got to listen to their Beatles records and feel cool. When they went off to college, I got to visit, and learned The Hustle. They were my protectors. Until they went off to live their lives.
But most of all, having 3 older sisters means there's always an authoritative expert on every subject. If it had to do with big words, it was Nancy. Guitar chords and handsome boys--Linda. And for the final word on any other subject, see Janet. As a teenager, she was the one --duh-- who already knew it. Whatever it was. From my perspective, she was the epitome of cool.
And now I'm writing a book about all of it. So many questions, so much fuzzy history. And who do I go to, when I need to sort it all out? Duh--the experts.
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