When I was 17 and seeking out a college at which to spend my four years of undergraduate Hell, my first choice was over 400 miles from where I'd grown up - the second, though ultimately I didn't apply to it, was over 3,000. At the time, the decision to stay in Buffalo instead of jaunting off to New York was the practical one to make in terms of money and academics.
Repeatedly, my mother voiced her satisfaction that I would be staying in the area. Even though I was pulling up roots and moving into the dorms, Williamsville is only about five minutes (in heavy traffic) from North Campus. Not only would she allegedly have missed me if I had chosen to go farther from home, but she repeatedly pointed out that since my youngest sister was only 11 when I left home, if I'd gone to New York City or Los Angeles, Martha would have grown up without me.
Even though my now 14-year-old, freshman-in-high-school sister is far more socially apt than I ever was at that age, and generally has a schedule that would put a rising Hollywood starlet booked on every talk show out there to shame, I'm glad to say that being based in Buffalo has enabled me to see, and get to know, her pretty well.
We don't get to hang out too often (between my classes and jobs, and her sports, clubs, school, homework, and social engagements, there's not much mutually available time out there) but on occasions like last Sunday when we picked up coffees at the Main-Street-in-Williamsville Starbucks, then spent an hour or so sitting by the Glen Park waterfall and comparing notes on books we've been reading and how we've both been keeping busy, I realize how much I'd have missed if I'd gone away. I'd have come home to find my baby sister a startling mature teen at the end of four years, with no idea how she got there.
It was strange enough to see her, my brother, and my parents for the first time in eight months when they came to visit me abroad last year. She had sprouted up about seven inches, and my brother was a good foot and a half taller (he, by the way, has now left for school in California, and seems to be having a fantastic time). But to look at the pictures we have of Martha - and me, and Nathan - from four years ago and compare them to the pictures from our last vacation is a study in shock therapy.
She's still young, obviously, but for the first time in memory I'm able to have real conversations with her, about issues and people and what's going on in the world.
It's sort of like when I was in high school and showed my little brother a story I'd been working on, and he not only read it but showed analysis of the ideas I was trying to put across in his response to what I'd shown him. Suddenly I realized: My younger siblings did indeed have minds of their own.
The fact might seem obvious, but at that point I don't think I had ever really considered that they could have independent thoughts that weren't specifically meant to antagonize me. It was quite a leap from "No, I want a turn on the Sega" to "Well, I think the way you've set this up to show how his character changes over the course of 10 pages is a little weird," and my brother had made it. What's more, I had witnessed it.
Now the same thing is happening with my sister.
Strangely, the topics of conversation that passed between my sister and I last Sunday were fairly universal. The seven years between us, while they have meant large differences when it came to clothing, taste in music, and in people, have begun to shrink. Not only did I hear about her friends and the challenges she's facing this year, but since high school bears considerably more positive memories for me than middle, I was able to give advice based on a period of my life that seems like it took place so many years ago that it would be inapplicable now.
Beyond issues of school, there were times when our conversation strayed to the kids walking past us in the park and to our brother. Turning 18 in November, Nathan is sandwiched in between two sisters who, of course, couldn't bear to make his life easy. But again, we've both noticed that since leaving home, Nate seems to have changed. Martha was the one who said he seems more mature now, but from the scattered conversations I've had with him in the last month or two I have to say it certainly seems like he's found a place where he feels comfortable. Given that he never admits to whether he's feeling homesick, I can't be sure about this, but all the signs seem to be there indicating his happiness is genuine.
What struck me most, though, was that because I've stayed in Buffalo I've been much more able to keep tabs on my little sister - who was barely a recognizable as a personality four years ago and is so much more than that now. And as we sat there in the park where I virtually grew up, where both my first real memory and my first word took place, I realized that no matter how different my life might have been if I'd spent these last four years in one of America's metropolitan centers, it wouldn't have been worth missing out on these quiet afternoons.
