My older sister, Regina, and I have a special bond. We’re close in age and grew up as each other’s built-in-best-friend and playmate. My mother dressed us in matching outfits and we often were mistaken for twins. We played barbies in the basement, pioneer girls outside, board games at the kitchen table, and Regina made up a game called, queen and slave (I always had to be the slave, but I was ok with it). At Christmas, we set up an ornament-making factory downstairs where we created decorations with orange juice cans, yarn, glitter, and cut up Hallmark cards. We spent Sunday mornings giggling uncontrollably in church, eventually having to be separated after getting the evil eye from our mom. Yes, we fought like any siblings. I have a scratch on my chin in my 2 nd grade school picture to prove it, but we were always there for each other. We remember the really “old days,” living in my grandparents basement, playing with Grandma’s big blue curlers under the dining room table, findi