Davis Family Adventures: I Got'cho Back!

I had a phone conversation with my older sister (by two academic years) Denise last month.   We were discussing a recent death in the family and she was offering comfort because she knew how close I was to our recently departed cousin.

Towards the end of the conversation, I told her how much I loved and valued her.  She was always there, since the beginning, giving me comfort and support during the toughest of times.   I thanked her for always being my guide, my protector, my teacher and my first beloved friend.

That’s when she dropped the bomb on me.

“Kenny”, she replied, “You’re too funny.  You’ve always been MY protector.  I’ve always felt completely safe and at peace when you were with me.”

Wait.  WHAT??? ME? The pain-in-the-*ss little brother that my father forced to tag along with my sister when she went out? How was/is this possible?

We talked for a little bit longer and she completely blew my mind with her words.  I never once thought that she ever needed me for ANYTHING because her life was so together.  she was perfect.  Loved by many and envied by all.  Still, I listened closely as she shared how much she loved and valued ME.  As she explained, I started having separate flashbacks of crazy incidents during our childhood.  

• Like that time in 1st grade when I learned that my “Niecy” (in 3^rd grade) had just been in a fight with a classmate.  [Names have been omitted to protect the innocent – or at least, keep them from losing “cool points”]   Well, I went looking for him to whoop his behind the next day only to discover that she had beaten the bricks off of him.  I hit him in his nose anyway.  I don’t think he was ready for two nosebleeds in as many days. 
• Or that time in 6^th grade when we were walking home after a school event (can’t remember what, but she was in Jr. High at this point) and someone in the crowd behind us yelled/sang, “Hey Denise!  You can rinnnnnng my ballllllllllls.  Ring My Balls!” to the tune of Anita Ward’s “Ring My Bell”.  I started back towards him and she snatched my arm, firmly ordering, “Kenny, NO.  Let it go.”
  Days later, I saw him on the basketball court.  I walked up to him and before he could put two and two together, I put one INTO two by kicking him in his testicles.  As he went down I shouted, “Do you still want my sister to ring your balls or is THAT enough for you?”
  I should have quit while I was ahead and ran off because "I" caught the beatdown that time.  Still. I got my point across.  You don’t disrespect my Niecy.

Look.  Plain and simple, I love my sister.  BOTH of my sisters, just like my mother.  Momma is my queen and they are the princesses.  I would gladly and quickly kill any man who would seek to do any of them any level of harm, without hesitation - physically, mentally, emotionally...   Hey, I offer no apologies.  I am my father's son!

But as I was saying, to know that through it all, she depended on me for something.  ANYTHING.  I never once stopped to think that she noticed these things (if she even KNEW about the things that I did).  I definitely couldn’t tell that she cared when my mother was ordering her to share her potato chips with me and she lovingly put a chip in the palm of my hand and then smashed it with her thumb.  (“Mommaaaaaaaaa!!”) 

All I know is that she is my everything.  She helped teach me to bake desserts, evaluated my school projects, taught me how to mend my own clothes when necessary, even helped improve my God-awful dancing (watching Soul Train on Saturdays).  I’ve spent my entire life enjoying the perks of having a big sister when all the while, she’s been looking up to me in so many different ways.

Is there a moral to this story? Take from it what you will.  I just wanted to share that there is beauty and joy in family unity and you never know WHO has your back and what they think about you.  

Whether or not they tell you. 

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