A snapshot

Forty-plus years old now, the surface of this small, square photo is covered with thin, mostly vertical, cracks. It has lived the better part of its life sitting on top of my dresser so the once-bright colors of the 1970’s have faded to more of a sepia tone. The trees and grass in the background look mustardy and my strawberry blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail, now looks closer to the color of my sister’s soft brown hair.  

On the back of the photo my mother wrote “Karen (3 ½) gives Janis (15 months) a trike ride.” I’m not sure who took the photo- my mom or my dad- but it’s of my sister and me from the waist up. I’m steering the tricycle and she’s riding behind me holding on to my arms. With me sitting and her standing we’re almost the same height. It wouldn't be long before she matched my standing height and passed me. Oldest does not mean tallest, at least that’s how it is in our family.

Riding that trike was great fun. It had white handlebars and red hand-grips with red plastic tassels that waved in the breeze if you got enough speed going on a straightaway. It was as fast as we could go under our own steam and at that age (or any age, really) it was empowering to do something yourself. In this still photo, however, the tassels are hanging limp. 

We’re wearing swimsuits which meant it was the height of summer and we'd been cooling off in the sprinkler. My suit was a one-piece scoop-neck with blue and white horizontal stripes on top and solid blue on the bottom. Sitting on that red and white trike I look quite patriotic. My sister’s suit had a white top with pink frills on the bottom. Frilly was never her style but at fifteen months you don't get a say in what you wear.  

We both have big smiles on our faces. When I smile my eyes crinkle up into half-moons making them hard to see (my left eye is an even thinner crescent than my right). To be clear, I can still see out of them but it’s hard for others to know that. Somewhere along the line I began referring to them as my ‘bad eye’ and my ‘one good eye’ and it became my joke at picture time.

The diminutive 3” x 5” square brass frame this photo lives in has a heart-shaped inset which perfectly cups the tops of our young heads. The size and the shape of the frame are so unique that she must have either looked specifically to frame this photo or seen the frame and remembered this photo of the two of us. Either way, it was a special gift from her on my eighteenth birthday.  

On the back of the photo underneath Mom’s original writing she wrote “Karen, Happy 18^th Birthday! Forever you’ll have a special spot in my heart. Love Always, Your Sister and Friend, Janis”. I feel so fortunate to have her in my life. She knows me well and loves me even with my one good eye.   

As with most close relationships where you share a bedroom, we weren't always such good pals. I found her, at times, to be quite annoying and certainly she felt the same about me. When it came to physical altercations I was a pincher, using my long fingernails to advantage, and she, well, she was a hitter. I know I’m sensitive but most fights ended with me crying after she’d slugged me in the arm. Seriously, she hits really hard. She still does- ask any of her Derby teammates. 

For having grown up in the same house we are quite different. I was shy and quiet and liked to read. She was bold and adventurous and liked to investigate things for herself. I pretty much followed the rules; she often went after the adventure. We were not to go any further than the edge of our property line; she’d bike around the block. We were not to cross the street; she made friends with kids across the street and then headed to the park.  

Any time she’d go off-grid it put our mom into a panic.“Did you see her? Where did she go?! Where is she?!!” Mom would ask, her voice rising with each question. I would shrug and think ‘You said to stay here. I did.’ I couldn’t fathom how she could just go off on her own and, though we’ve never talked about it, perhaps she was just as surprised that I stayed put.  

With her zest for adventure I imagined she would travel extensively, seeking out adventures in the larger world. Rather, it’s been my brother and me who have spent time in other countries and she’s remained nearer home.  

I've found through travel I'm able to connect with myself in ways I can’t seem to access in daily life. Maybe in always following the rules I didn’t listen to who I was. And maybe she didn’t need to travel around the world to know that: she’d been listening to herself the whole while.  

Seeing life through the lens of my own experiences, I’ve been after her to get her passport. Traveling changed my life for the better and I wanted her to see all that this big, blue marble has to offer. It didn’t matter to me if she traveled on her own or if we headed out together I just wanted her to get her passport. But it didn’t happen, until now. Ladies and Gentlemen, it is official: she has her passport!    

Its binding is unbroken. The pages are blank. I’m so excited to hear about what she discovers in the world and in herself when she heads out. Where will she go? What countries’ stamp of entry will fill that little blue book? That’s hard to say. If my mom asks me I’ll probably still shrug. She’s off on another adventure…