by Bethany Saytr

Created on: February 23, 2010

                Eighteen years ago, my twin sister and I were brought into this world by a woman named Sue Walsch. Seventeen years and six months ago, my sister and I were adopted into a wonderful family in hopes that we might grow up and make a difference when we had more opportunity. I always hear stories of how my conniving sister and I would stir up trouble by stacking ourselves on top of each other to smash the cookie jar, or something like that. When you have twins, it’s like they’re stuck in their terrible two’s forever. We fought; we bickered, bit, spit, punched, and got an infinite amount of coal from Santa. Our accomplishments through our childhood consisted of general tomfoolery and deceitful methods of getting what we wanted, and protecting each other. I remember one time; my twin was getting bullied by a third grader. I recall distinctly asking myself “What would Batman do?” And so, I grabbed the kid by his neck collar, glared at him straight to his soul, and said “Tell your friends I’ll beat the living snot out of them if they tease my sister again.” I was probably in the first grade, and the kid I was beating up was in the third grade so naturally, he told on me. I was sent home and my mother was furious with me. I wasn’t allowed to watch Batman anymore, much to my dismay.

                And as the years passed, we grew up. Our interests split and the things we had in common dwindled. She was the artsy twin. She could draw a tree and it would look like it walked right out of a forest and onto her drawing pad. I drew stick figures and dinosaurs, which was completely fine with me. My accomplishments dwelled in my athletic ability and analytic thinking. I excelled in sports and mathematics while my sister took her music and art to a whole new level.

                My sister picked up the French horn her freshman year in high school. She loved it, cherished it, and could play it excellently. My mother rented her French horn and tossed me my brother’s old, beginner trumpet so she wouldn’t have to pay for another instrument. That old trumpet ended up being my key to Jazz Musicianship. My sister liked structure; everything had to be in its place for some reason. 

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