Sister Sister Grace A Foulkrod

Several weeks ago, I was made aware of my sisters’ excursions into my bedroom with measuring tapes and note pads in preparation for my departure to college (which, mind you, is still one year away; their level of excitement is extraordinary). My parents’ giggles quickly diminished my frustration with these shenanigans. They were laughing partly at my sisters’ ignorant confidence in the future setup of our home and partly out of endearment for me and my own inflated indignation.

For most of my life, my parents have divided their attention between me and at least one other child. I am the oldest of four girls, and this has greatly influenced my upbringing and character. For years, if someone asked me how I liked being the oldest, I would respond by curtly referencing my sisters’ come-and-go access to my closet and hidden sweet stash (clearly, hidden *unsuccessfully*). Even now, I have come to count on a messy bed and missing clothes whenever I come home from a trip. A recurring comment which my mom makes when I get frustrated with these “violations” of privacy is that my sisters hijack my things because they admire me.

I recently came home from a weekend away and encountered a mess in my room made by my youngest sister, Ally. I...