Coloring Outside the Lines

"Yo, whaddup, dis is K and for whatevah reason I can’t get to da phone right now but… leave me a message and I might hit you back.”

It was her phone message right after she moved to New York. She would kill me if she knew I was using this quote to describe her. But for some reason I always feel compelled to break out my best Brooklyn accent and share it with anyone who asks about my sister.

To see her now with her long, ever-changing hair, pierced nose and dangling earrings, walking down the street in one of her many pairs of Chuck Taylors (or as she would say, "kicks"), one would never guess she grew up in midst of the Piney Woods of East Texas. K is much more adept at traversing the subways of New York City than the maze of trees that surrounds our childhood home. But then again, the stereotypical small town life and the small mindedness that sometimes accompanies it never quite seemed to suit her.

The Christmas after she moved, she wrote a poem for me. It still warms my heart and makes me cry sometimes when I read it.

You have the hands that lift me up,

You give me sight when I cannot see,

You’re the one I call on when life has me down on my knees…

When did my little sister develop wisdom beyond her years and such a talent for writing poetry? I treasure these beautiful words she wrote for me, that she trusts me with her secrets, and that she still occasionally needs me.

K is an enigma to most who try to know her. I never quite understood how she managed to be so mysterious while I was the opposite. For instance, in some of our first Sears family portraits, I showcase this humongous grin while conversely she’s not really smiling at all. Instead she has this little smirk on her three-year-old face, like she knows something you don’t. She’s now famous for that look and still somewhat of a mystery. So, while I can’t share all of her secrets. I want to try and give a glimpse of the K I know, the young woman I have grown to really like, and the sister I love.

When she was little, K used to follow me around calling out, “Sistah, sistah, pway wif me.” We both had a bit of a speech impediment. Pair that with a country accent and you have two very funny-sounding children. We even had our own little language. Our neighbor down the road would always say “hi” when we walked to get the mail. His name was Eugene; however, we thought our parents were saying “Your Gene” and would get into arguments over just whose Gene he actually was.

Our arguments evolved considerably as we grew older. We shared a room and bunk beds until I was a senior in high school. Not an easy thing for two teenage girls. Especially when one of those girls was very motherly, while the other was the ultimate rebel. As I think back on it now, I probably spent a little too much time telling K what she should not do rather than showing her what she should. I always saw her as my innocent baby sister. That would change.

We were both blessed with parents who encouraged our individuality and friendships with people, no matter what their race. I can still remember her sixth birthday. It was a swimming party at the lake by our house and she invited all of her best friends, many of whom were black or Hispanic. Unfortunately, multiracial parties were not a common theme in East Texas while we were growing up. Even though I am five years older, I have always been slightly oblivious to some of the darker sides of human nature. So, at the time and years later, I thought nothing of the fact that my first Barbie was black and, so it seemed were most of my sister's friends.

K is a fiercely loyal friend to those fortunate enough to crack her cool façade. However, she does not trust easily and actually does not like that many people. I think some are even a little frightened of her. This could be due in part to her famous temper and scowling face when she’s in a mood or because many people simply do not understand my sister. Different is not just an adjective for K; it's a way of life. When other girls were curling their hair, she was putting hers in cornrows. She has always been her own person, doing and saying what she feels is right and not caring what others may say. While I once found this quality to be frustrating, as we both grow older and wiser I find that it is one of my favorite qualities about her.

Part of the reason K finds it hard to trust people is that she has not found many in whom she can. As I was enjoying college, she was struggling through high school. Her sophomore year she fractured both of her feet and could no longer play volleyball or dance. This was also the year her best friend’s family forbade her to ever come to their house, her second home, simply because she had the nerve to date someone outside of her race, a big faux pas in East Texas. Subsequently, she was talked about behind her back by the “popular” girls and even their parents.

Your sweet laughter washes,

The bigotry in life,

And your voice is warm with love,

You make me laugh and sometimes cry,

But in the end your hand I will never shove…

I always felt guilty that I was not there for her to protect her during a lot of this time, to tell her to keep her faith in the goodness of people and not lose hope even when she was surrounded by so much animosity and ignorance. Unfortunately I was in Austin, discovering myself and finding my way while she was losing hers.

Even though she’s more jaded now because of her traumatic teen years spent in rural East Texas, she is also a stronger woman for them. She was so happy to get away, to a different state, a new city, and a fresh start. Because art has always been her release, she moved to New York to attend Pratt Art Institute in Brooklyn. The Big Apple has its own set of problems but here is where she has found a place for herself, friends she can count on and a life that she is finally happy to be living.

As they usually do, plans changed and this summer she will graduate with a dual degree in psychology and art from Brooklyn College. In true K fashion, about 3 years ago she met and fell in love with her very own Puerto Rican “papi”, born and raised in downtown Brooklyn. “From one border to another”, they fit each other so well. Miguel, my boyfriend-in-law, helped put the glow back in my little sister’s cheeks and the happiness back in her voice, even if it is now tinged with a very Brooklyn and slightly Puerto Rican accent. For this he will always have a special place in my heart as well as K’s. Now, if he breaks her heart, then I’ll have to go all mother bear on his ass. I am, after all, still her big sister.

To you I owe the moon,

And the precious stars above,

For you my sister,

Have taught me wisdom,

Possessed by only your love.

Ditto “sistah”. Ditto…