An Overdue Wink and a Nod
I have two sisters. It is rare that I make any public declaration of my admiration and affection for them, because I just assume they know. It is about time I give a little tip of my hat to the Sisters Steckman. Every once in a while people need to know just how much they fuckin' rock.
You see, the Steckman Sisters are a force of nature. The first thing that anyone will note when observing the Steckman Sisters is the incredible gene pool we be swimmin' in. We share noses, foreheads, and unblemished skin in addition to the frightening similarity in our voices, laughs, hand gestures, and joke telling techniques. That latter we all inherited from our mother. You see, when a Steckman woman knows she is going to say something so witty she can't stand it, she will reach out and grab your arm to make sure you are paying attention (especially if you are a man), open her eyes wide, smile through her cheeks, tighten her upper lip as if she were hocking Jell-O pudding pops, and then punctuate the punchline with her own version of the Steckman cackle or guffaw. It is charming when you witness it in the natural Steckman sister habitat- which would be any place that serves alcohol.
Pamela and Kristen are my elder sisters, and that will always be so. They had the benefit of growing up and playing together with our brother, Bryan (who notably escapes Steckman Sister membership by his tragic lack of ovaries, but we'll get to Bryan's idiosyncracies on another day!) while I came late and ruined everything. My siblings (including Bryan) are 13, 9 and 6 years older than me and they really couldn't do anything to make me tow the company line. I was weird, had a weird name, had imaginary friends which my parents indulged (much to Kristen's dismay), was ridiculously outgoing, and, it bears mentioning twice, I was weird. Even though Pam wanted to save me and Kris wanted to kill me and make it look like an accident, they still managed to corrupt me and give me beer and cigarettes. God bless them!
Even at 30 I find myself modeling myself after them. I'll catch myself using a facetious sybillant 's' or using their distinctive phrasology. As a kid I so resented their coolness, how easily they seemed to breeze in and out of a room, how irritatingly attractive they were to all of my male friends, and how they seemed to have their own language and vocabulary of movement. It was hard to be the afterthought of such a team. Bringing up the rear is never a choice position. However, they were kind enough to pave the way with cigarettes and beer! Okay, more so Kristen than Pamela- Pam was a bit of a goody-two-shoes but she did supply me with many parties in Minneapolis during my high school years. Not to mention that she made sure I got a nice on-stage mention at 7th Avenue on my 18th birthday. Dude, that rocked. Oh, and if it weren't for Pam's super creepy boyfriend, I never would have met my husband. Score!
Ours is a sisterhood of mutual admiration, even though we are not superhuman and occassionally want to beat each other about the head with blunt objects. Pamela is intelligent, driven, witty, and about as on-task as you will ever witness a mere mortal be. Kristen is sharp as a tack, as true as the fucking day is long, and a great storyteller. Both Pamela and Kristen are wonderful mothers- with very different styles- with wonderful kids. Both have beautiful singing voices and are verbal gymnasts with great humor. I love how they can make me squirt rum out my nose, even when I am not drinking rum! I love how we can stick together, especially with how tough things have been lately.
It occurs to me, just this very moment, that I have had a habit of patterning my close female friendships after my sisters. My most intense female friendships have been in groups of three- with the notable exception of Sara who defies all catagorization to begin with, but that is another story. Hmmm, I'll have to plumb the depths of that one a little later, but for now let me just close this post with some shameless blubbering.
Pamela, Kristen, I love you and thanks.
You see, the Steckman Sisters are a force of nature. The first thing that anyone will note when observing the Steckman Sisters is the incredible gene pool we be swimmin' in. We share noses, foreheads, and unblemished skin in addition to the frightening similarity in our voices, laughs, hand gestures, and joke telling techniques. That latter we all inherited from our mother. You see, when a Steckman woman knows she is going to say something so witty she can't stand it, she will reach out and grab your arm to make sure you are paying attention (especially if you are a man), open her eyes wide, smile through her cheeks, tighten her upper lip as if she were hocking Jell-O pudding pops, and then punctuate the punchline with her own version of the Steckman cackle or guffaw. It is charming when you witness it in the natural Steckman sister habitat- which would be any place that serves alcohol.
Pamela and Kristen are my elder sisters, and that will always be so. They had the benefit of growing up and playing together with our brother, Bryan (who notably escapes Steckman Sister membership by his tragic lack of ovaries, but we'll get to Bryan's idiosyncracies on another day!) while I came late and ruined everything. My siblings (including Bryan) are 13, 9 and 6 years older than me and they really couldn't do anything to make me tow the company line. I was weird, had a weird name, had imaginary friends which my parents indulged (much to Kristen's dismay), was ridiculously outgoing, and, it bears mentioning twice, I was weird. Even though Pam wanted to save me and Kris wanted to kill me and make it look like an accident, they still managed to corrupt me and give me beer and cigarettes. God bless them!
Even at 30 I find myself modeling myself after them. I'll catch myself using a facetious sybillant 's' or using their distinctive phrasology. As a kid I so resented their coolness, how easily they seemed to breeze in and out of a room, how irritatingly attractive they were to all of my male friends, and how they seemed to have their own language and vocabulary of movement. It was hard to be the afterthought of such a team. Bringing up the rear is never a choice position. However, they were kind enough to pave the way with cigarettes and beer! Okay, more so Kristen than Pamela- Pam was a bit of a goody-two-shoes but she did supply me with many parties in Minneapolis during my high school years. Not to mention that she made sure I got a nice on-stage mention at 7th Avenue on my 18th birthday. Dude, that rocked. Oh, and if it weren't for Pam's super creepy boyfriend, I never would have met my husband. Score!
Ours is a sisterhood of mutual admiration, even though we are not superhuman and occassionally want to beat each other about the head with blunt objects. Pamela is intelligent, driven, witty, and about as on-task as you will ever witness a mere mortal be. Kristen is sharp as a tack, as true as the fucking day is long, and a great storyteller. Both Pamela and Kristen are wonderful mothers- with very different styles- with wonderful kids. Both have beautiful singing voices and are verbal gymnasts with great humor. I love how they can make me squirt rum out my nose, even when I am not drinking rum! I love how we can stick together, especially with how tough things have been lately.
It occurs to me, just this very moment, that I have had a habit of patterning my close female friendships after my sisters. My most intense female friendships have been in groups of three- with the notable exception of Sara who defies all catagorization to begin with, but that is another story. Hmmm, I'll have to plumb the depths of that one a little later, but for now let me just close this post with some shameless blubbering.
Pamela, Kristen, I love you and thanks.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:37 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home