The holidays forever remind me of my family. I love the traditions my parents started at that first Christmas I remember celebrating when I was 13. As we all grew, married and left the nest, it seemed we always came back at the holidays to laugh, joke, commiserate and just celebrate our time together.

This year, being so far from home, I visited through my memories (and the telephone). It was a wonderful trip that helped me make it through the holidays without them.

One of my favorite memories is of my baby sister. Being 9 years younger, it was like she was from another generation. I got to watch her grow up, be her confidante and help her when it came to dealing with our parents. We had a lot of fun, let me tell you!

My favorite memory about my sister actually came when she was in the 5th grade. She had tried out for a part in the Christmas pageant at her elementary school. It was a musical called “Mutton – The Christmas Lamb”. To the utter surprise of our entire family, she got the lead. Other than hearing her sing silly songs on family car trips, none of us realized she enjoyed singing.

The night of the pageant, I sat in the stands with the rest of the family. As the gym grew dark signaling the beginning of the play, my mother silently grabbed my hand and held it. We were both very excited, if not nervous, to see Heather perform.

After what seemed like an eternity, the spotlight shown down on a little girl holding her Christmas lamb. She began talking to the stuffed animal as if it could hear her.

She delivered the sorrowful soliloquy with passion and fervor far beyond her 11 years. She seemed to feel every word she uttered as tears streamed down her young face. We were all completely captivated. Then, she broke into a ballad. Her voice was angelic, pure.

I felt a sharp pain in my left hand and realized my mother was squeezing as she watched the scene unfold before her. I looked up at her and watched. I watched as she silently helped her little girl sing every word. I watched as a tear of pride escaped her eye and ran down her cheek. I watched her sit taller with every note. I watched as she reveled in the pleasure of her baby’s voice. I watched as the last note faded in the darkness and the audience erupted into applause. Our clasped hands were white as if the blood had ceased flowing. We had held on to each other as though our strength could somehow be transported to that little girl; help her through her lines and songs. She didn’t need our help or our silent prayers. She was flawless.

After the play ended, my mother and I looked at each other, smiling. We were both so proud. The gym was buzzing with praise and adulation for the young star of the show. It is an evening I always look back on with pride and admiration. It touched my heart, soul and brought me to tears. It was the first time I heard my baby sister sing.

It doesn’t matter how many times I hear her sing or what the circumstances; I am always so proud, so captivated, so amazed and so in awe, it’s like the first time.

© 2011, mandeesears. All rights reserved.

Mandee has been reading and writing most of her life. The memoir genre is her favorite. Join her on the road to discovering self through memoir writing.

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Tags: family, mandee sears, memoir, pride, sister

This entry was posted on January 5, 2011 at 11:26 am and is filed under Memoirs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.