“What a waste of a perfectly good Saturday,” I mumble as I shift my position on the hard, metal bleachers and take a quick glance around me. 

Phew! At least I don’t see anyone I know here. Why is Mom doing this to me anyway? It isn’t fair.

My eyes are drawn to the field in front of me. Leading a giggling procession of athletes is my younger sister, Jenny. She proudly carries a banner that says ‘Special Olympics’ in large red letters. 

Through upwardly slanted brown eyes, Jenny eagerly surveys the crowd. Her small, flattened nose crinkles up as she grins when she spots me in the bleachers.

“Erica, look at me!” Jenny hollers toward the audience, all the while jumping around excitedly and waving both hands in the air. 

In the midst of her outburst, she awkwardly loses her grip on the banner and it crashes to the ground. She grabs the poor guy beside her to regain her balance. Instead, they both fall down on the field. 

That’s typical Jenny. She’s always full of life. She’s also pretty clumsy. Jenny was born with a medical condition called Down Syndrome and she’s mildly disabled. She can do most of the same things other nine-year olds can, but has to work much harder and longer to do them.

As far as sisters go, Jenny is one of the best. I love her a lot. Lately, though, it seems like she’s always embarrassing me. Take last week, for instance.

I was in the school cafeteria, sitting with some girls from the track team. I’d been hoping they’d ask me to hang out with them since I’d joined the team two months ago. That day, they finally had. We had just started eating when I noticed that familiar blonde ponytail bobbing through the doorway. It was Jenny and her Special Education class noisily entering the cafeteria and they were passing right by our table. I almost choked on my fries!

“Look at them. I don’t know why they have to eat in here with us.” The team captain, Sarah, rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Ugh, you’re right,” another girl added.  “They’re making me lose my appetite.”

I winced as the cafeteria echoed with laughter when Sarah stuck her perfectly manicured finger down her throat, pretending to gag.   

I should have said something right then. After all, Jenny’s my sister, even if our blonde hair is the only thing we have in common. But I really wanted those girls to like me, so I simply looked down at my tray and didn’t say a word.

Mom was furious when I got home from practice that afternoon. Jenny was crying. She’d heard Sarah and the others teasing in the cafeteria. Even worse, she’d seen me with them.

“Erica,” Mom said, “it’s not what they said that bothers me. It’s what you didn’t say.”

Later that week, Mom reminded me about Jenny competing in the upcoming Special Olympics. She said it would be good for me to attend and she wasn’t falling for my excuses this time. So here I am.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice booms. “The next event is the girls’ 100 meter hurdle.”

It’s finally Jenny’s turn. I glance up from my magazine as she finds her place on the starting line with the other athletes. The whistle screeches and they’re off.

Jenny starts the race strong, running as fast as her short legs will carry her.  She approaches the first hurdle and hesitates slightly. Gritting her teeth in sheer determination, she lunges forward and clears the hurdle.

“Yes!” I jump out of my seat to cheer and then quickly sit back down.

Come on. You can do it, I urge silently as she draws near to the next hurdle. 

Only this time, Jenny doesn’t make it. Her wobbly legs don’t lift high enough off the ground. Her right foot catches on the top of the hurdle. CRASH! The hurdle and my sister fall into the dirt.

“Oh great,” I groan. “Here we go again.”

My attitude quickly changes as I watch my little sister slowly climb back up. With her jaw set firmly, Jenny forces herself to continue the race. She moves with a strength I’ve never seen before and definitely never possessed myself. Yes, jumping those hurdles may be something I can do with ease, but for Jenny it’s a mission. She seems unfazed that the race has already been won. It only matters that she finishes. 

Now I finally realize what the announcer meant when he recited the Special Olympics Athlete Oath during the opening ceremony. "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."                     

With my heart beating like a bass drum in my chest, I know what I have to do. I leave my place in the crowd and sprint to the side of the track. I no longer care about anyone else around me, only Jenny.

As her questioning eyes meet mine, I respond, “Come on, Sis. We can do this together.”

Running side-by-side, Jenny and I complete the race. Sure, everyone else is long gone by the time we cross the finish line, but neither of us cares. 

“Wow, you were really something out there today, Jenny,” I say, as we lie in the grass on the sidelines.

“You don’t have to say that, Erica. I know I’m not as good as you are.” Jenny humbly looks down at her dirt-stained clothes.

Deep down, I know why she says this. It’s my fault. I haven’t been much of a big sister lately. If anyone has the right to be ashamed of her sister, it’s Jenny. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and pull my sister close.

“Jenny, you’re so much better than I am! You don’t give up even when things are hard. I’m so proud of you. In fact, I wish I could be more like you,” I tell her. “You know what? I think we should celebrate with a snack. Let’s go to Brady’s Ice Cream Parlor, my treat!”

“Thanks, Erica. But…what if your friends see us?” she asks shyly.

“Who cares? Anyway, if they really want to be my friends, they need to accept my sister, too,” I say with a smile. “From now on, you and I are a team.”

“Forever,” Jenny exclaims and tightly grasps my hand in hers.

As we head toward the parking lot, I shake my head at the irony of it all. The same little sister who’s always looked up to me is now my hero. Today, on the track, she taught me a valuable lesson. Being bigger or smarter doesn’t make you stronger. True strength comes from within the soul. The next time I feel afraid or doubt my ability, I’ll picture Jenny conquering those hurdles. Then I’ll go ahead and jump.