Hung out with my little sister on saturday, to spend some quality time.

Turns out my sister is now a teenager, a fact that had somehow escaped me. Though she's only fourteen, she's five foot ten, has friends who are already having sex, and has her sights set on going to college in Berkeley, which, I now realize, is only two years away.

I am almost positive it was just a week or two ago she was two years old, sitting in the living room, ripping up my comic books.

And it couldn't have been more than a few days ago she was nine, running around disneyland.

I often hear about parents who remember fondly and wax nostalgic about their children being small. They say the ages 3-8 are their favorites, back when their children were cute and affectionate, before puberty and embarrassment about being hugged and/or kissed in public sets in. But for me, even though I am taken aback at the fact that somehow my sister has gone and grown up, each age she reaches is my favorite. Getting to see her grow up is something that never ceases to bring a smile to my face. Whether it be talking about what she wants to study at school, the ins & outs of evolution, or how to outsmart our dad, I'm having a blast.

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