Day 6

One slow evening, I was bbm-ing with Amy as we lazed in front of our tvs--me gleefully catching a rerun of the PBS show Arthur and she delighting in an old school Berenstein Bears cartoon.

[Aside: It never fails to amaze me how many of us still indulge in these classic shows meant for kids. I consider myself to be a pretty well-mannered person but sometimes watching Arthur reminds me of all the things that my parents do to make my life easier even though they're exhausted from their own long days (Re: the episode where Binky thanks his mom). Heading home for Thanksgiving was the perfect reminder: when I stumbled indoors, my incredibly sick mother--barely able to keep her eyes open despite the super-strength crazy new antibiotics--had shuffled out of bed to make stuffing just the way my sister liked it. Nor would she accept any help. When I tried to sneak into the kitchen to help chop vegetables, she shoved me away. After a lot of arguing, I was finally allowed to stir the stuffing. Sheesh.]

But I digress. When I was chatting with Amy, she, too, professed her love for Arthur and vehemently declared that her favorite character was his nagging, annoying loudmouth of a little sister: D.W. I was flabbergasted. D.W.? Out of everyone? D.W. is the crystallized aardvark version of my own little sister. At 4 years old, my sister was just as stubborn and determined to be one of the big kids. She screamed when my friends and I had matching cups and she didn't. She howled when I didn't want to play stuffed animals with her. She hollered at the top of her lungs when her tricycle couldn't keep up with my bike. In preschool, her fellow classmates cowered when she marched into the room in a flowery dress, lacy socks, and beribboned hair. Even though it has been many years since my sister was blowing out four birthday candles, she still exhibits a few D.W.isms when she comes home from college, plops down, and claims the remote for her more mature version of "Mary Moo Cow."

Yet where would Arthur be without D.W.? D.W. defines him--whenever the show plays off of Arthur's habits, the one they always use is how he's chock full of stories beginning with "Can you believe that D. W. did this?" Arthur the Average Everyman would be boring without D.W. So maybe that's the real reason why I identify with Arthur: because my sister, like D.W., makes my life more colorful. She was the one who talked me into piercing my ears, watching the Desperate Housewives of ____ shows, and dying my virgin black hair a caramel color. She encourages me to loosen up and not care so much about things that don't really matter in the long run. On top of that, she does make the best egg sandwiches I've ever had.

Sure, if she weren't around I might've had a personal library where I'd lounge around in a smoking jacket like in Arthur's daydreams, but I'd be a Dull Jane.

So, Amy, this is me saying that I kinda understand why you idolize D.W.. But if you love D.W. because you don't have a little sister, I'd be happy to lend you mine. Did I mention that she's the kind of little sister who used to walk on my hair and eat my ice cream when I wasn't looking? And now guilt trips me into buying her a smart phone so she can call me to pick her up in the wee hours of the morning when she can't drive?