The one story I can always remember (because my sister asks for it often) is about how she owes her life to me. Yes! When I was four, we had this thing in my kindergarten class where we'd have STUDENT OF THE WEEK. The teacher pulled out a huge honking piece of that kiddie-lined paper, and wrote our names, ages, families' names, favorite show, and our preference in the eternal elementary argument: ham sandwich or PB&J or tater tots floating in milk? Seriously. So, I noticed all these kids with names of "brothers and sisters." I watched a lot of TV, but actually, I had NO idea what these elusive "brothers and sisters" were. I thought they were some awesome kind of pet from like, Africa. I kid you not.
Finally, I, the demanding spoiled only child I was, asked my parents for one. I didn't care which; there seemed to be no difference to me. After my continual whining, all the adults in the house (parents, grandmother, uncle), whilst laughing merrily in their wise and private Club of Knowledge, told me I was getting a sister. It took forever for the sister to arrive. I thought the FedEx man was taking his sweet time delivering it, and figured my mom was just getting fat. Too much cake.
The night they rushed to the hospital, grandma told me my sister was the way. Perhaps the FedEx man had made a mistake and delivered my sister to the hospital instead. Stupid. The next morning my dad called and very happily told me I had a sister and her name was Jessica. They named it without me! Princess Aurora was a much better name, but oh well. I don't remember going to see her, but I do remember when, in a flurry, they brought this sister home, bound in blankets, and I couldn't get a good look at it. When they finally calmed down, placed it in the crib, and left it alone, I pulled up a chair and peered over the edge. Mom, years later, told me that I then exclaimed,
"OHHH, it's a mini HUMAN! Oh." And went back to watching Sonic.