If tomorrow I wake up and forget my childhood, I can only hope I don’t forget the person who
gave me a reason to remember it. My sister is the only friend I never wanted to have; yet we
learned the violin, moved across the country, and involuntarily got matching Dora haircuts
together (thanks mom). As I grow farther from who I once was, the fact that these versions of
myself still live on in someone’s memory comforts me.

Reading Catherine Pakaluk’s article on siblings reminded me that siblings don’t only shape our
character, they remember it. With the idea that siblings share and become essential living time
capsules of our childhood, Palakuk references American writer and only child Orestes
Brownson to support her claim, who blames his lost childhood on the idea that “children form
one another, and should always be suffered to be children as long as possible.” Unlike
Brownson, whose childhood ended far too quickly, this article made me realize that to me, my
childhood never truly left. A part of me knew I wanted those days to last forever; or, at least long
enough so I could remember them.

That’s why from now on, I will proudly remember the years my sister and I shared poorly cut
bangs and sparkling polka dot pants: to ensure that our childhood does not erase with time.
More importantly, to ensure that time does not erase us.