I ran to her, picked her up, and cried more than she did.
I remember when I was 10 years old and my little sister, Sharon, was 6. We had just moved from Midland, Texas to Rolling Hill Way in Martinez, California. We went on an adventure along Vine Hill Way and walked about 22 blocks. I found a huge, egg-shaped rock and was slinging it over my shoulder like a football. Sharon suddenly yelled, “A bee! A bee!” and wasn’t watching her shoelaces. She tripped and fell flat on her face. She had already crossed over a 3-foot fence into the front yard of our house. I threw my rock as hard as I could, trying to help, but accidentally hit her in the back of the head and knocked her out cold. I ran to her, picked her up, and cried more than she did. I had hurt the baby.
Love you, Sis. Happy Mother’s Day.
