Hi Danny (Tata),

You know, I don’t really remember what it was like when it was just you and me. I know the stories ’cause Mom tells them over and over. There’s the one where you knocked me out of my crib and then there’s the other one where you yanked my bonnet with braids off my bald little head in the grocery store. I remember a few, but they were all post-Lori. I know some day I’ll be telling your kids about the war of the billiards balls. Mom and dad got rid of the pool table a tad too late and after discovering that their skinny first born was Mr. Destructo.

To tell you the truth, I never really learned my lesson. Looking back at those mid-1980s years I can see why I didn’t understand that hanging out with you was bound to be trouble. Perhaps getting hit in the head with one of the billiards balls had some lasting effects on my ability to make rational choices. But even with the potential physical harm that came with being your little sister, I still didn’t ever want to keep my distance. I tagged along like no other little sister could. I joined your Little Leagure team. We both joined a folklórico dance group. I was in choir, you were there. I chose to play trombone because you played. I went on band trips because you were going. I became an altar server because I saw you doing it. There are dozens of other examples.

I know why I became your shadow and didn’t mind being known as “Danny’s sister.” You were (and continue to be) fun. And your friends were cool (and cute). From kindergarten through the present, you never seemed to lose any friends, you just gained more and more friends. They were hardly the superficial type too, they were people you truly cared about, and vice versa. Some were your age and some were older. You even added a few surrogate parents and grandparents. Everyone else loves you so much and I can see why.

I didn’t always follow your example. I was a little smarter. Rather than be an hocicona and talk back to Mom and Dad, I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes you didn’t know which arguments were worth letting go and which were worth fighting ’til you could win in a battle of attrition. But even then, I admired you. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t talk back to my parents even when I knew they were wrong or being unfair. Eventually, I developed that ability and become almost as hocicona as you. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but finding my own voice and becoming more assertive is definitely good.

I’ve learned a lot more from you even when I thought there was nothing you could teach me. Thanks.

¡Feliz cumpleaños!