16 Candles

Happy birthday to my favorite sister who turned 16 x 3 on Friday. Originally written for her 40th birthday, this is just as fitting today as it was all those years ago.

You all know Julie in one capacity or another: family member, long-time friend or the picture on the post office wall. Most of you know her as she sits before you now, but I would like to share a few memories of her from my own growing-up period.

The year was 1963. On television, people watched Huntley and Brinkley for the news; The Andy Griffith Show was the highest rated comedy; The Andy Williams Show was the best variety show (how many of you even remember what a variety show is?). On the radio, The Beatles scored their first of many #1 hits in the US with "I Want to Hold Your Hand". The Los Angeles Dodgers, who had bailed out on Brooklyn a mere four years before, shock the New York Yankees in the World Series by beating them in 4 straight games. The Washington-to-Moscow "hot line" communications link opens, designed to reduce the risk of accidental war. Julia Child, “The French Chef”, debuts on educational television.

Julie Ann was born to Jim and JoAnne Tabacchi on March 25 of that year. Her proud parents were positive that this bouncy little girl was the most beautiful baby ever, outside of her older brother, of course. I was equally impressed that something so small and noisy and smelly could cause such a great stir. “Jewey”, as I lovingly called her, moved in and, well, life was never quite the same after that. I was the perfect child, just ask anyone who was around back then. My sister, on the other hand, was the devil herself in human form.

In those days, car seats were for the weak. We had fun climbing front-to-back-to-front-to-back-to-front-to-back in the car, a Ford Country Squire station wagon, complete with the fake wood paneling on the sides. I was content to sit and read or just look out the window at the scenery, but my sister, on the other hand, wasn’t satisfied with peace and quiet. No, she would agitate and aggravate and torment me to no end, until all that poking and prodding resulted in her having an imprint of my hand somewhere on her body, which would then result in me getting yelled at from the front seat by our parents, leaving a smirk on the face of Little Miss Innocent that required removal with another well-placed hand imprint and the cycle would replay itself over and over.

I’m sure my father still wonders how both Julie and I survived each other. It wasn’t for lack of trying, I assure you. Somehow we managed to co-exist throughout school without much damage. When I went away to college we actually missed one another (but would only admit it to our mother, never to each other). I think it was then that I realized she was not only my sister but one of my friends as well.

So, after 40 48 years, what have I gotten from my dear sister? A few headaches, advice (solicited or otherwise), a brother-in-law, a sense of humor, hand gestures, a shared interest of poking fun of our relatives, and unconditional love. Happy Birthday, Julie. We love you. Fred, Cindy and Laura.