Sisters

I have so many memories of reading books to my little sister when we were growing up.  Stone Fox (I paced the floor, tossing used tissues everywhere as I cried while reading this one), Bridge to Terabithia (we cried so much), The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Holes (Dad didn't appreciate that we spent most of that camping trip sitting in the car reading rather than enjoying the ticks and spiders), Lord of the Rings (She moved away to live with our aunt at sixteen, and I have still never finished reading this book, we only had a few chapters left), The Rainbow Zebra (We read this one so many times, wonder what happened to that cloth book?), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Where the Sidewalk Ends. These books will always be special to me, they bring back memories of simpler times when my sister and I shared everything, when life wasn't so complicated.  In such a large family, it was nice that we had each other so we didn't get lost.  She is my sister, my daughter, my best friend.  I took care of her, she took care of me.

And I will never forget the day she told me that the only reason she reads books today is because she has those memories of me reading to her, me making books and stories a part of her life.  The best feeling in the world, like I did something right, like I accomplished something with my life.  That's good enough for me.  I created a bookworm, and I couldn't be prouder than if she really was my daughter rather than my sister.  She is my baby girl no matter what, and she reads.  What more could I ask for?