A Hero to All, But Especially Me

Dear Button,

It’s funny, knowing how close we are now, to look back at the first words I ever said to you—or rather, about you. Mom had just brought you home from the hospital and set you on the couch in your carrier next to me. The moment she left the room, I pushed you—carrier and all—off the couch. When she rushed in, wondering why the baby was now on the ground crying, I angrily replied, “I don’t like it. Take it back.”

If the words of toddlers carried any real weight in the decision-making process, my life would’ve turned out very differently. Our lives would’ve turned out differently. And it would’ve been very dull indeed not to have you by my side.

Even before that moment, there was a possibility that I might remain an only child forever. Our parents had even scheduled a vasectomy for our father. But then a doctor told our mother, “The longest person your child will ever know in their life is their sibling.”

That decided it all.

From the time you could walk, you began trailing me everywhere I went. Our parents called you my “me too,” because everything I wanted, you declared “me too.” You were always there next to me—even when I didn’t want you there. When I was bullied by other kids on our bus ride to school, you passionately demanded, “Leave my sissi alone!”

Now, of course, I look back in admiration at your bravery and the image of my tiny sister defending me warms my heart. But for a child, the last thing they want is for their younger sibling to try and fight their battles for them. As a result, I often told you to get lost, to quit following me around. And, of course, you never listened.

I’m glad you didn’t.

Over the years we grew closer. In elementary school, our family of four became a family of three when our father left the picture. For a short period of time, the three of us were all we had—a tightly bonded household of women. Then our mother got sick, and our numbers dwindled to two. During her period of illness, our mother’s presence was more like that of a ghost. She was there, but not really, and the two of us grew closer still.

Our mother’s sickness was more because of her own poor life choices than any real disease. In many ways this made me feel powerless, destined to follow in her footsteps through her learned behavior. There’s a saying that, no matter how hard we try, we always turn into our mothers. I found myself repeating her mistakes, not taking care of myself. But then I saw you and you showed me another way.

Despite growing up in the exact same environment, somehow, you were able to defy all that. You became strong and healthy in all the ways our mother wasn’t. You taught yourself to be resilient and self reliant. And where once I felt I had no one to guide me, to show me how to care for myself, all of a sudden there you were. At some point our roles switched. I found myself following you, wanting to be like you. I had become, and to this day remain, your “me too.”

The word mentor brings to mind someone older and with greater life experience. Maybe most mentors are, but for me the person I look up to the most arrived on this planet two and a half years after me. While many younger siblings look up to their older siblings, it is I who look up at you, Button.

Though I am 6’1 and you are but 5’8, to me you stand taller than any person I know. Though you are younger, you are a century ahead in your uncanny ability to see the best in the world. While I dream of moving to a better place—some exciting and far off destination—it is you who dreams of turning the place you call home into the better place that other people will dream of going to.

I happily admit that you are a better person than me on all counts. You make me want to be better, too. You are my idol, my mentor, my sister, my world, my Button.

But it’s not just me who looks up to you.

As a firefighter, you are an example to young girls of just how strong women can be. Some people have this idea about women, that they can only be one thing. They can be strong or beautiful, kind or smart. But women can be everything and anything they want to be, and you prove that to the world each day.

Even when people look at you in disbelief, asking “you’re a firefighter?” you are continuing to break through the glass ceiling that has long told women what they can and can’t do.

And when you’re not off saving lives, you’re caring for the life of a three-year-old girl as a nanny. Every day you help shape who she will turn out to be. Because of you, when she sees a firetruck, she says “firewomen.” When she chose her Halloween costume, she chose to be a firewoman just like you. That girl is so lucky to have you in her life.

The most amazing part about being your sister is looking forward to watching you continue to grow and shape the lives of others. I know this isn’t where your story ends, your ambitions are far and wide. I can’t wait to see what you become, but I also want to be present and take joy in who you are right now.

The way that one woman can inspire others, it’s a domino effect. It doesn’t end with us. As long as there are women and girls in the world who inspire, there will be those who are inspired and in return inspire others.

Every day you are an inspiration to little girls everywhere—but especially me, because I was the first. You make me a proud “me too.” To trail behind you and follow in your footsteps, I can’t think of a better way to spend my life’s journey.

Love,

Your "Me Too"