I can’t say I remember the first time I met my sister Pam. I was very young at the time. I’m sure our relationship didn’t get off to the best of starts. Think about it. Pam was born in 1961. She got to be an only child for about ten months before my brother, Joe, came along. Then Mary Ann showed up two years later in 1963. By the time I was born in 1965, I would imagine Pam was just about sick of the whole “baby” thing. My oldest son, Chris, can probably relate a bit. He had nearly three years to be the sole focus of Mom and Dad. Pam had less than ten months. That’s not a lot of time to get your share of “the only baby” lovin. I would guess that, by my arrival, Pam had probably decided that Mom and Dad were starting their own small country and she was resigned to being “Test Subject Number One.” Somebody had to start the ball rolling.
I vaguely remember playing with Pam when I was little. By the time I was old enough to recall such times, she was at least nine or ten years old. Heck, that’s a huge gap for a five or six year old. I thought she was an adult for the longest time. She had been in school for a bit by then, and had friends and a life. I was barely out of diapers. (still am, as I am MUCH older now) I felt privileged that she actually knew who I was. She held celebrity status for a little fella like myself. I suspect she was holding back getting to know me, since there was probably another damn kid coming along any minute now. Why get used to this one? Let’s wait and see what the next one’s like.
I recall some times when she babysat we siblings when Mom and Dad would go out. Why not, she was grown, right? I can still see her sitting in a chair, in the dark living room in Georgia, watching a horror movie. The only light in the room came from the tv. I’m pretty sure I was hiding behind the couch. Granted, the movies we judged as “scary” back in the early seventies wouldn’t hold a candle to the stuff on cable today, but man, did they scar me back then. Pam loved them. I think that’s why I like spooky movies today. She taught me that horror is an adrenaline rush, even if neither of us really understood why. Still don’t.
Reading is another thing Pam and I have in common. She was always reading. She loved Stephen King long before he was cool. She set the Big Sister example and I took the bait. I grew up devouring books partially because my Big Sister read, so I knew it must be cool. Thanks, sis.
As the years rolled by, all too swiftly, I noticed a few things about Pam. She always seemed to have friends. She was always coming, or going. She pulled down good grades in school. She dressed stylishly. Multi-colored bell bottoms were in style while she was growing up, you may recall, as well as weird hats and headbands. She was her sibling’s Test Subject Number One, too. She tested the parental limits many times, with varied results. First to stay up late, babysit, talk back to parents, get a job, sneak out of the house, wear clothes that were age-inappropriate, date, graduate high school, get pregnant, get married, get out of the house. She was a trend setter, that girl. I, personally, am grateful for all three of my brother and sisters breaking our parents in, and setting the examples of “what not to do’s” and “this is what’ll get you whooped”. Even if I decided to follow them straight down the same rabbit holes.
As we little Stone’s grew up and left the nest, we grew into our new lives and slowly gravitated around our own family orbits. For a long time, we kept together. Family members were still local. Holidays and birthdays were shared, and abundant. Our kids grew up around one another, went to school together and played together. It was the best of times. As life took it’s turns and twists, and new members of the family appeared, we drifted in time and space. It’s inevitable, but still a bit sad. Today, we’re spread out from Arkansas, Tennessee, all the way to Florida. When we do get together, it seems we never really grew up. We pick at each other, do rabbit ears in pictures almost automatically, and remind each other of the stupid stuff we used to do. Age hasn’t seemed to put a dent in our desire to pick on each other.
Pam and I have this one thing we used to do. She’d pinch the shit out of me and run away. Or was it “I’d pinch the shit out of her and run away”? Either way, neither of us can actually run anymore, so we usually do it verbally now. Got to adjust with the times, ya know?
Oh yeah, I almost forgot, today is Pamela Louise Stone Porterfield’s Birthday. Fifty Freakin Nine years old and still kicking, acting like a kid and talking shit. She’s been a Nana for a while now, so I suppose her age is catching up with her. Grandchildren, I’ve learned, make us older and younger at the same time. I think that’s a perfect description of being a Grandparent, and of my oldest sister, Pam. You seem to have the ability to stay young (possibly childish?) even as you grow so damn old. You wear it well, Sis. Thanks for breaking in Mom and Dad. Thanks for showing me how to tackle life from a dark, twisted, and sarcastic angle. Thanks for being an example of how a hard working parent can anchor their family with love, humor and straight talk. Thanks for not smothering me with a pillow in the crib and in my bed during my terrible two’s through sixteen’s. Thanks for all the dark, twisted humor that’s helped keep me sane (I know, just go with it) through all the crazy times in my life. Your laugh and smile always echoes in my head when I find myself laughing at totally inappropriate times.
You’ll always be older than me, by the way. I love you, Big Sis! Happy Birthday!
Rolling Stones 
Love this💕💕
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