A Tattered Backpack

           

Tietje 4

Cheyanne Tietje

Dr. Wells

Eng 102H

19 February 2014

A Tattered Backpack

Late for Philosophy, I jump out of bed and shove every book in sight into my light pink, tattered, seven year old backpack. Forgetting my skateboard, I take off down the hall with a feeling of anxiety rushing down my spine. As I turn the corner and dodge a head on collision with two other students, one of my backpack straps breaks and my bag goes flying. I stop running and stare as the bag I carried around for seven years finally gives up and lands on the Barrett Lawn.

People can have the tendency to neglect relationships they have been in for an extensive amount of time. It can get to the point where they don't notice that it has started to deteriorate. That backpack was neglected and became a mere article in my everyday life. My sister, Delicia, gave me this bag for my first day of middle school when I was extremely nervous because I did not know anyone. Since then, I had always carried that bag around from place to place and when it was not slung around my shoulder, it felt like I was missing a part of myself. Now that I think of it, this backpack gave me a sense of comfort because it came from my older sister who, at the time, I happened to be getting along with.

Delicia and I were always attached at the hip and not just because we lived in the same house. We received the same love and affection from both of our parents and were never called anything less than the good girls by family and friends. In many cases, my sister and I were the "safe zone" girls which meant that when an activity happened to be going on, with either her or my friends, if the parents asked if my sister or I were attending then the answer was always, without a doubt, a "yes".

We did everything together which meant she and I took pleasure in being in each other's face all the time. Back in the day you could always find us as each other's playing partner and often acted as partners in crime. When she found herself in trouble, it could usually be assumed that I would be found as one of the culprits as well. There was even a point in time when she would automatically stand by my side and take the blame for my actions. One time that this theory could be proven happened when I was curious as to what would happen if I kicked one of the kitchen table's legs as hard as I could in the middle of a meal. Naturally, the kitchen table's leg flew out from under my legs that could not yet reach the floor and sent dinner plates, and glasses flying in every which way. Out of habit, my sister took the blame right along with me and we both giggled as our parents yelled at us for a lengthy ten minutes.

As she reached her mid-teenager years, and I could almost reach the double digits, our personalities began to bloom and it became apparent that I inherited my dad's short tempered trait. Delicia on the other hand developed a characteristic of endless patience. The mystery held as to where she got this because of my family's reputation for not being the most patient of people. All we could apprehend comprised that she developed this amazing trait of patience with everyone else, except me. An incident occurred when I needed tutoring in Fifth grade math and my mother assigned my sister the role as math tutor. I would sit and listen to what my sister tried to teach me but right when I thought I could solve the equation with the slightest hint, I would tell her to not bother me because I knew exactly what to do, even though I did not have the smallest idea. She would look at me and firmly tell me, "Cheyanne, I barely started telling you what to do." My response usually followed the lines of, "Well I think I can figure it out from here if you just give me a second to think." Rolling her eyes she always rebutted with a sassy comment such as, "Well obviously you have no idea what to do because you haven't touched the pencil." This usually infuriated me and I would try to fit in the last word with, "I can't think when you keep making noise." After a few minutes I would surrender and let her finish her lesson. This would go on for two hours and by the end of our lesson we would run to our mother, red in the face, and take turns complaining.

As we grew a little older, our feelings changed and we acted differently. I saw my sister as the perfect daughter and she saw me in the same light. Consequently, whenever one did something, the other would try to top her. She joined a folklorico dance group, I joined Taekwondo. I got straight A's in middle school, she got straight A's in high school. She became Drum Major, I did the same three years later. I gave a speech on bullying to a crowd of 300 people, she sang at an appearance of Hilary Clinton. She started a job teaching fourth graders, I joined the International Baccalaureates Program. This vicious cycle continued throughout elementary school, middle school and even most of high school.

This competition finally ceased when we matured enough to recognize that it was an escalating problem and needed to be put to an end for the sake of our relationship. I remember this talk being uncomfortable for the both of us because it involved us talking about feelings that were bottled up for eight years. After an hour of venting, seeing the other person's side and trying to understand our view points, we finally came to an understanding that most siblings come to at some point in their relationship. As sappy as it sounds, we hugged it out and agreed to not let childish things come between us again.  This relationship went through its ups and downs but what we put into the relationship would be what we got out of it, just like my old backpack.

I cannot put a notebook into my bag and later expect to get out a calculator. Like the backpack, life it brutal and in relationships you have to work to get what you want out of it. My sister and I could not just put in a little effort and expect a magnificent outcome. In order for us to get to a good place, we were put to the test to put in a lot to receive such a grand reward.  Over time, as a backpack gets older, it not only decreases in value, but may also become just an article in your life. An object that you do not take into consideration of its value on a daily basis or its importance in your life. My sister's and my relationship was like this at many points and even to this day. It is sad to know that we would only recognize that we coexisted and would not give a second thought to the fact that we spent our whole lives together and had an endless amount of memories together. Like a backpack, relationships get worn down. This can get to the point where you do not acknowledge that the relationship has started to wither away. But, just as my sister and I had our heart to heart resolution, a backpack can be tossed in the washer and be good as new once more. There is no point in a relationship, such as in mine and my sisters, where the relationship cannot be mended back to a state of harmony and happiness.

Many believe that relationships can reach a point of which there is no use in helping. They think that because a relationship has diminished in value, it is alright to abandon it all together. This way of thinking is what leads to broken friendships or even families. By living with this state of mind, you can grow apart from someone as easy as saying "Hello" to them for the first time. With this way of thinking, I could have received that backpack from my sister on that first day of middle school and then tossed it to the back of my closet that very afternoon. Relationships were not meant to be thrown into the back of your closet. They were meant to be nurtured on a daily basis so to stay in your life for as long as you can keep it there.

As years pass, my sister and I still make an effort to put in what we want to get out of our relationship for the sake of our love for each other. When we become distant because of the physical or emotional distance, the relationship starts to become ragged like my old backpack. We then compensate by putting in more effort to get out the same amount of a reward for our sisterly relationship.