Inthe beginning, my sister and I were friends. We were always together, playinglibrary and watching "Sesame Street." I would watch her tap dance, andshe'd watch me eat sand. We played with the same friends and wore matchingoutfits. I have to admit we were adorable. We didn't just like each other becausewe had to, we really had fun together, and were close.

But to me my sisterwas more than just my friend. She was my hero. She is three years older andalways seemed so mature. On Easter she would put some of her Easter eggs in mybasket if I couldn't find enough. She shared her favorite doll with me and taughtme how to play games. I wanted to be exactly like her. If she took dance lessons,so did I. If she played piano, I did too. When she jumped off the couch, Ifollowed. Sure, I broke my leg in the process, but she was the first to sign mycast.

We were friends in school, too. I was so proud of her that my wholeclass would know all about her within the first few weeks of school. She wouldhelp me with my math and I'd draw her pictures. All through elementary schooleverything was great.

Then came middle school. When my sister entered thefifth grade, things started going downhill. She had better things to do than playboard games. I was just her little sister. Our fights became more frequent andour time together more infrequent. For a while I still looked up to her, though Itried to stay out of her way when she was in a bad mood.

The older wegot, though, the more ornery we became. By the time I was in fifth grade, I hadstarted fighting back. When my sister got mad, I got madder. When she yelled atme, I yelled back louder. We suffered through our year together in the sameschool by ignoring each other in the halls and frequently sleeping over atfriends' houses. I actually began to enjoy ticking off my sister.

I wasthrilled when she entered high school. Not only was she in a completely differentbuilding, but since she left for school before I did, I could steal her clothes.I was usually able to put them back before she noticed. When she caught methough, it was a struggle to escape in one piece. During our fights, deaththreats were exchanged and growling was almost always heard. I know we drove ourparents insane and were often punished. How and why we acted like we hated eachother so much I'll never know. All that's clear was that I was an annoying littlebrat and she was a short-tempered snob.

Luckily, it was time for my sisterto go to college before either of us had sustained any permanent damage. Icouldn't wait until she was gone and I would have the whole house to myself. Ithought it would be heaven, and I was right. The first week she was gone was purebliss. But soon I realized that the house seemed empty. I never did have thenerve to take over her room like I said I would. I couldn't believe it, I missedher. I missed the way she walked around the house smiling for absolutely noreason. I missed her laughing at cartoons. I missed ticking her off.

Sincemy sister's been gone, our relationship has greatly improved. I never thoughtwe'd get along again, but I was wrong. I'm still proud of her, and I'm notashamed to say I look up to her. But most important, I'm glad that she's gone,because for the first time in a long time I can say that I'm looking forward toher coming back.