During our childhood in the Stockton Family, my big sister Paige came right out of central casting. Prettier, more popular, moodier, fiercer, occasionally meaner, and the most loyal of the three of us, Paige is the reason Patrick and I never had to do much talking. Because Paige is always looking forward for ways to improve herself and others, she has a true blind spot for the past. Patrick and I can dissolve into giggle fits as we stroll down memory lane recalling the ridiculous shenanigans that we were lucky to escape without bodily harm or legal consequences. And as we breathlessly snort-laugh in the retelling of old stories, Paige will attend this performance stoically, claiming to recollect none of it. Patrick and I still find this odd because Paige remains the main character of our youth.
The night before her first day of middle school, Paige carefully chose an outfit and looking into the mirror of her matchy bedroom set, she declared dramatically, “I’m practically in high school. I’ll be gone soon.” She was 12. Another time, Paige rang up a mother on our cul de sac whose spoiled, mean-spirited child had lured Patrick into a playdate only to pummel him with the help of his Mongoose-bike-riding goons. I will never forget her on the kitchen phone with its 20-foot overstretched cord telling Mrs. Mongoose that she should check her parenting skills and that she wouldn’t hesitate to alert the police. She was 14. Reflecting on their own parenting, mine at age 80 will admit with no hesitation that leaving us on our own for an entire day at a theme park with only 7th grade Paige in charge was reportably irresponsible. But if you grew up knowing 7th grade Paige, you’d say, “eh, that was probably ok.”
We celebrated Paige’s 53rd birthday during our Stockton Women cousins book club zoom last week. I am the youngest of this generation, but now entering “middle age” as the next crop of cousins couples up and brings the most interesting, intelligent, loving, and fabulous women into the Stockton clan through marriage. Even if we don’t read the book, we’ll still share opinions—my kind of book club. Paige, naturally, chooses what we’re reading or arranges the poll to decide; she sets up the zoom; she makes sure everyone has a chance to speak. She’s still that confident girl in the mirror.
I still rely on Paige in her big sister role, last week more than ever. With one kid at college experiencing its alternating fun and stress, and another slogging through senior year at a school that is unnecessarily challenging and strict, I’m launching more Hail Marys and Our Fathers than I ever did in CCD. I recalled my own father returning home for dinner on a typical school night, entering the kitchen as Paige was either effusive about sweet sixteen party planning or despondent because she wasn’t permitted to attend any party without proven parental supervision. Dad would say, “Paige, when I get home, you’re either here (hand at waist) or HERE (hand above head), and I need you to be here (hand at chest).” I’m not sure this requirement was ever met.
When Brodie calls from school, it’s either a rugby win (HERE!) or a locked-out-of-dorm-and-I’m failing-a-class (here) moment. I find myself wishing he’d occasionally call when he’s just… bored. But I miss him so much with my entire soul, that his name on the caller ID makes my heart sing. Teddy turned 18, celebrating with a gaggle of buddies and a handful of impossibly pretty girls (HERE!) and then failed the driver’s test for the third time (here) and often I don’t know which version is clomping down the stairs in the morning. So, I call Paige, and even if she isn’t physically here, I can feel her mystically having my back in the way Patrick did with that cul de sac mom.
Paige had a birthday, I had a crap week, and sweet friend Stevie introduced me to this new platform for writing. This Ode to Paige is my first set of paragraphs in quite some time and may lead to more writing with Steve as we navigate a world that still needs Big Sisters to feel safe and loved and understood. Love you, Paigy Poo!
I read this for the first time more than a year after you wrote it. Thank you. I love you so very much.