I missed it because in 52 years, I’d never heard of it.
But as I perused Facebook and saw all the cuddly words and images about brothers and sisters, I felt a pang of remorse.
I, too, have a sibling I wished to recognize.
Babette Morgan Fuesting is six and a half years my senior. By the time she went to college, I didn’t even have hair under my arms.
Siblings that far apart aren’t suppose to be that close. But we were from the beginning.
Babette took care of me, made me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She watched out for her little brother.
Kids in that era had the run of the town and would scatter to the far corners if fun was to be had. But every night when supper beckoned, Babette would step off the back stoop, summon the decibels of a bullhorn and call me home.
I always came a runnin.’
I looked up to my sister because she was an achiever. If she ever made a “B” in school, I don’t recall it.
As a teenager, she sold two works of fiction to Seventeen magazine received a four-year scholarship to college when such things were unheard of.
Babette for years chronicled the goings-on of her hometown as editor of its weekly newspaper, later going to work as an editor and reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.
But as much as she has done for her profession, she has done twice that for people.
Investing financially and emotionally, Babette has sacrificed her well-being for that of others for decades. That is what makes her who she is.
A sister to be admired.