storytimewithjoe | Aug. 2nd, 2007

While trying to distract myself from the aches and pains of last night’s yoga, I am reminded of the fact that yesterday was my sister Georgette’s birthday. How remiss of me to not talk about her on my journal!

Like many families of mixed ethnicity, my sisters and I are different – REALLY different. The term “family resemblance” does not often apply anywhere in our generation unless we are talking about stubbornness. From my oldest sister Roxanne, the blond-haired, blue-eyed fair-skinned Arian, to me the dark-haired, brown-eyed, hush-puppy, we define the opposite ends of the spectrum in more ways than one. Smack-dab in the middle, like the eternal Jan Brady, stands my sister, Georgette.

Georgette is just nuts – but in a good way. Most often referred to simply as, “Jet” (a shortening of the nickname“George Jetson”), my sister is the eternal hippy-child of the family. Unique among the four of us, Jet is fortunate to have NOT inherited the genetic predisposition towards chubby. She has always been very svelt, athletic, stylish, and just striking (We all HATESES her, we does!). In many ways, she is a true Bohemian. You know the kind – the type of free-spirit who could easily make the perfect home out of a loft apartment decorated in a combination of Ikea, Pier One, World Imports, Marine Specialities (y’all from Ptown will understand), and just a hint of tasteful Goodwill. Throw in a beanbag chair, a lava lamp, some incense, a really good cup of chamomile tea, and Jean-Pierre Rampal playing in the background, and you have her ideal den.

It was Jet who first pushed me to expand my mind. One Christmas, I opened up a package from her with the Chronicles of Narnia. They were my first bookset ever. She helped me to read through the first book, and I was then left to springboard through the rest. This was followed in sequence by the Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings, and then a complete jump forward into Asimov’s Foundation series. In its own twisted kinda way, one could trace my path to the SCA directly from these early starts.

One of my favorite memories has to be when I visited her in Boston. I cannot remember which college she was attending, but for one long weekend, she decided to bring me to Boston for a visit. We had a BLAST! I was really too young to remember all the places that we went, but I know that I had fun with everything we did. I remember visiting the Boston Museum of Science (ALWAYS fun for a kid), and eating this new-fangled thang called “potato skins” and “nachos” at the original T.G.I. Fridays. What a fun time that was.

Jet is quite the caretaker. No really…QUITE the caretaker. She really likes to watch over… and to worry. The worrying has me troubled sometimes. She likes to be prepared – really prepared – really, really prepared… just in case the absolute worst happens. I don’t want to say that she is pessimistic about life. After all, pessimists just view the glass as half-empty. Jet instead views the glass as, oh I dunno, DEFECTIVE because it isn’t full, and it needs to be IMMEDIATELY replaced before somebody gets hurt! Now! Now! Now! Worry! Worry! Worry!

Maybe the worrisome mother in her is my fault. Being the young brat of the family, my sisters were all my default mothers. But Jet was unique in this equation. When my parents decided to move to Florida, it split the family in that my sisters were all old enough to be living on their own in Massachusetts. Jet moved down to Florida. Legend has it that my father kinda sorta put the pressure on her to do so to help watch over me and my mom. I could see that happening actually. Thus, Jet had the pleasure (NOT!) of being another mom during my teenage years. My teenagedom is just about as boring a story as you can get. I was NOT a daring teen. If anything, I was a terrified teen. If teenage hormones tend to make people go a bit nuts, they completely made me an anxiety-suffering basket case. Every day was a new worry – the Cold War had me worried. Religion had me worried. The fear of not getting straight A’s made me worried (not that I always got straight A’s, but it worried me when I didn’t). The fear of failure made me worried. (Hmmmm… I DO see a family resemblance!) I ate, slept, and studied. That was my life. If I didn’t have homework to do, I’d create some. Finally, one fateful day, I decided to try and break out of the uber-uber-cautious and conservative mold. I drank at a school function because all my other friends were doin’ it.

Sound the Claxon-sirens! Joe strayed from Good Behavior!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, I got busted.

Yes, I got in trouble.

Yes, I got suspended.

Yes, I lost scholarships.

Yes, I got booted from the National Honor Society.

Yes, my world got shattered.

And all this was while the parents were up north on business. So who got called into the Principle’s office because they were having trouble with The Beaver? Jet. The incident left me so depressed – moreso than I think anybody realized. In my mind, I had let EVERYBODY down, and I could never recover from that. I had been such a goody-two-shoes – never did drugs, never stayed out late, never talked back (yes, there was a time!), etc., etc. The one time I did something – BAM! Rather than rag on me, Jet realized that I was about as low as low could get. So she did her best to try to get me to smile. I appreciated that, and eventually climbed out of the hole I dug for myself.

As a teen, I learned to windsurf. Why? Well… because she made me. Again, being the depressed, fat, social introvert that I was, I might be coaxed to try it once, fail, and then never try it again. But Jet would have none of that. Aside from needing somebody to help her schlep her stuff, she wanted me to break out of my own self-imposed shell. Eventually, I learned to windsurf. Eventually, I learned to socialize. Eventually, I made it through most of my own social awkwardnesses and learned how to interact with other people. Heck, eventually I learned that I could have a drink or two, and the world would not come crashing down. In short, I learned an obvious lesson – it is ok to lighten up. I still have trouble with this lesson to this day from time to time, but nothing like then.

Jet, you really have influenced my life, and have helped me to be a better person. Thank you. I love you. Now go listen to some more Jean-Pierre Rampal, and quit calling my nephew, “Joey.”