Margaret

Margaret and I grew up together in Detroit, a city where the rhythm of life was as vibrant as the Motown music that filled our streets. She came into our family when I was just a year old, and from that moment on, she became one of the best additions our family ever had. As kids, we were inseparable, sharing a bond that only deepened with time.

I still remember the day our mother sewed us matching Indian costumes. We spent the afternoon dashing through the house, laughing and shooting each other with toy bows and arrows, lost in the joy of our make-believe world. Our imaginations knew no bounds, and when we weren’t playing dress-up, we often turned to board games. Monopoly, Yahtzee, and a Filipino shell game called Sungka were our favorites. I have to admit, Margaret was a much better sport about losing than I ever was. I had a competitive streak, always expecting to win, and when things didn’t go my way, I’d get pretty upset. But Margaret? She’d just laugh it off, her good nature always shining through.

Back then, there were no cell phones or video games to retreat into, so we spent countless hours together. Margaret loved to read, always carrying a paperback with her, lost in the pages of Stephen King novels or books about the occult. During long car trips, while I stared out the window, Margaret would be engrossed in her latest book, completely absorbed in another world. At home, we enjoyed watching old sitcoms like The Partridge Family and The Brady Bunch. Television was simpler then, with fewer choices, and we knew exactly when our favorite shows would come on. Our evenings were often planned around those broadcasts, a routine that brought us comfort and joy.

Margaret had a particular fondness for real-life dramas, especially those that dealt with the challenges of adolescence. I remember one movie we watched together, Go Ask Alice, about a girl experimenting with drugs. It was a film that our parents likely wouldn’t have approved of, but Margaret was drawn to these stories. She had a deep understanding of people and a natural empathy that made her a good listener. This is probably why she was so social, effortlessly making connections with others. I, on the other hand, wasn’t much of a reader and preferred spending my free time playing sports. Shy and a bit awkward, I hadn’t yet developed Margaret’s knack for socializing.

Margaret had a few favorite foods—barbecue spare ribs and spaghetti topped the list. On our trips up north, we’d often stop at Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland in Frankenmuth, Michigan, where Margaret would always order the spaghetti. Family meals were lively with Margaret at the table. She was quick in her movements, always full of energy, and I often found myself wondering what she might spill next with her animated gestures.

As we grew older, particularly into our pre-teens, I’ll admit I could be a bit of a brat to Margaret. I teased her about all sorts of things, especially about her weight, even though she wasn’t fat. She believed she was, and I, being an immature kid, exploited that insecurity. But when the boys started to notice how pretty she was, my teasing lost its power and eventually stopped.

Margaret wasn’t the most patient person, especially when it came to tasks like gardening. Our mother, who was slow and deliberate, loved gardening and thought it would be a fun family activity. But Margaret, restless and easily bored, found it unbearable. It wasn’t until years later that we realized Margaret had ADHD, which explained why slow-paced activities like gardening drove her crazy.

When I started high school, our relationship began to change. I was a shy, small freshman, while Margaret was a social butterfly. We didn’t hang out much because we ran in different circles, but Margaret always looked out for me. I remember in 10th grade, she even helped me get a date with a girl named Martha. I was too nervous to ask Martha out myself, so Margaret did it for me. We went on a double date to see the Electric Light Orchestra at Cobo Hall, my first official date. The concert was so loud that I had to yell to talk to Margaret or Martha. I was such a dork that I even asked Martha if it was alright to put my arm around her. Nothing much came of that date—Martha had a thing for older guys and sometimes asked me for advice about them. Talk about being in the friend zone.

Margaret didn’t have straight A’s in high school like I did, but I would have gladly traded some of those grades to have the social life she enjoyed. She was always surrounded by friends and usually had a boyfriend. One that stands out in my memory was Danny, a Greek guy with an inflated ego. He was the first to tell you how great he was. Unfortunately, Danny’s jealousy got the better of him, and Margaret had a hard time breaking up with him

Margaret was a force of nature, full of life and energy, and though we had our differences, the bond we shared was unbreakable. She taught me a lot about understanding people, about being patient and compassionate, and though our paths diverged as we grew older, those childhood memories are etched in my heart forever.