Letter #4: Letter To Your Siblings

Dear Riana & Langston,

I’ve tried and tried to think back to our most memorable times together. There are but two that I can remember tangibly. They don’t include the awfulness of the fire or the divorce.  

The first predates those markers in our history.

It was our ritual in the old house to have our own little party when Mom and Dad went out with friends on a weekend night. Already in our pj’s, we’d say our goodbyes and wait just until the garage door had closed behind them to assume our respective positions in the den.

Riana, you were always the DJ, the only one allowed to touch Dad’s stereo and the stacks and stacks of albums we had in the house. Each of us manned with our own makeshift microphone, we’d sing and dance for hours with breaks only for Pizza Rolls and Hawaiian Punch.

You guys died laughing when I made my own dance, “The Boo-Boo Dance”, as you call it. It was the only one I did in our line up for years. Untill you guys taught me the butterfly, that is. Together we marveled at the brilliance of Michael & Janet, tried to pull of the Boyz II Men harmonies, and screamed at the top of our lungs to Whitney Houston classics.

We spent every minute of the two or three hours that Mom and Dad were gone in that den together. Singing, dancing and laughing our heads off. Those songs hold our memories, I’ll never forget how good those times were.

The second came after the fire, the divorce, my beautiful neice and nephew and all of our moves to and back from Florida.

Lang, I loved that you chose your sisters to be your guest at Jay-Z’s Blueprint III concert in Indy this past summer. It had been so long since we all spent time together, which is probably why we spent a ridiculous amount of time posing for pre-concert pics, (one of which is still my Facebook profile picture).

I’ll never forget how you grabbed our hands and pulled us through the overly-crowded downtown streets, sure that we’d all make it together. And then there was the look on your face when Jay-Z, who I’d listened to you imitate for years, took the stage. “That’s Jay-Z,” you said with childlike wonder.

Together, we danced and sang along for hours, just like the good ole’ days.

We dubbed ourselves “The Bratpack” that night, and I can’t wait for our next adventure.

Let’s do it big.

Love you both,

Tiff