Better than Barbie

Better than Barbie by Celia Iskandar

A sister, I decided at age three, would be more fun to play with than Barbie. A sister was what I wanted more than anything in the world. When I was five-years-old, I got one. She had red hair and a loud mouth. And she was more fun to play with than Barbie and Ken combined. Her name was "Melissa."

Each December, of our childhood, our parents took us to select a tree. On odd-numbered years, a small tree went up in Melissa's room; on even-numbered years, it went in mine. On Christmas Eve, whichever one of us didn't have a tree slept in the room of the one who did. There the two of us would bury ourselves beneath warm covers and muffle whispers and giggles. We'd vow to remain awake and "catch" Santa. Then we'd promptly fall asleep.

Before sunrise, one of us would awaken and shake awake the other. Holding hands, we'd creep down the stairs, stopping on the seventh step, to peer down into our parents' room to make sure Santa had come. I always expected Melissa to get switches, especially the year she beheaded one of my favorite dolls. But, for some reason, she never did.

Once in our parents' room, Melissa and I pounced upon our gifts, playing first with our own and then with the other's. Somehow, Santa always knew exactly what we'd like.

The most precious gift I ever received, though, came not from Santa, but from God. She is a gift who makes Christmases extra special and other times, too. She's a gift better than Barbie any day. She's my sister, Melissa.

Written for (& printed in) the 1997 Advent Booklet for The White Bluff Presbyterian Church of Savannah, GA

Celia & Melissa whirling on a fair ride in Savannah. Nov. 1997

While Celia undergoes one of many rounds of chemotherapy, Melissa visits her at the hospital with a bouquet of fresh sunflowers

Melissa (L), Celia (center), Shandy Clark* (R) (*A friend Celia met at her Cancer Support group. Shandy had this photo enlarged and placed it on the "Wall of Courage," at a Walk for Cancer in Washington DC, during the fall of 1998 in Celia's memory.))