The Chinese symbol for sisterhood is comprised of four symbols. I have three sisters. Yep, the next logical step is a tattoo. At least, that is what my youngest sister was determined to convince me of two years ago.
As the oldest of the group I have a certain status—determined at birth—that has stuck with me through the years. For example, whenever we travel together … I drive. Once a year, we gather from our various homes in the Southern California area to go on what we call “Sister Weekend,” and I always drive. If anyone else is behind the wheel, a battle inevitably ensues over how close she should follow that car ahead of her, whether or not she looked before changing lanes, and why the hell she always has to brake so late!
Another expectation of my birth order is that I have to carry the key to the safe in our hotel room. Before heading to the spa, we dutifully remove our valuables and put them in the little black hotel safe, then one of the girls quickly hands me the key. When it comes to keeping the peace, my role is unquestioned. “Call Michele, she’ll talk to her,” has been uttered by each one of my sisters—dozens of times each. So you see, it isn’t unreasonable to expect that I would be capable of talking them out of permanently marking our backsides.
My youngest sister started her tattoo plea by telling me the history of the symbol. She gave a long, rambling account of how each symbol possessed individual meaning at the same time as it was a part of the whole. Just like us. My dear sister told me that the only thing anyone should ever consider tattooing on their bodies would be a symbol whose meaning was so enduring there would be no chance of regret. What could be more permanent than our sisterhood, she asked. Lastly, she used true sister logic—you can pick the size and the placement carte Blanc. I said no. Then I said absolutely not. Right after that, I started thinking.
The truth is, my sisters are my best friends. They are equal parts the cementing glue that holds me together, and a tightly woven basket to put all the pieces in should I fall apart. We celebrate each sister’s individual strengths, joys, and accomplishments as if they were our own. When one hurts, we all suffer. Shared past experience gives us history, but discussing our daily experience keeps us close. We challenge each other to be the best version of ourselves … you can’t hide from the truth for long in this group. In death and birth, in crisis or in celebration, to plan a party or make the best of an awkward invitation—my sisters are always there. As the saying goes: they truly know me and they love me anyway.
Much to the bemusement of my other two sisters—who counted on my level head to prevail—I suddenly found myself unable to argue with the idea that our sisterhood deserved black ink memorializing. The thought that we would be linked by ancient Chinese symbolism was unexpectedly magical; I bought into the crazy plan hook, line, and sinker.
That, my friends, is how I found myself butt up at the tattoo parlor permanently stamping my backside. One unexpected benefit: we look awfully cute in bikinis!
