My sister is very generous. So much so that this summer, she rented an incredible house in the very chic east end of Long Island for our entire extended family to enjoy. We could wear our sunglasses and pretend to be rich and cool.  I could look for Kelly Ripa in town.

It didn’t surprise anyone in our family that my younger sister was the one to do this.  

In high school, my sister was at the top of her class. She was the president of this and the winner of that. She graduated from a dark blue university down the road from us, followed by an ivy strewn grad school.  She had her pick of jobs and made smart, calculated choices.

I, on the other hand, was a different story.

In high school, academics took a back seat to the social scene. During my first week at FSU, I told my mother that I wasn’t sure if I would make it out with a degree in just four years. Most everyone I met was on the five-year plan.

My sister goes home to her ultra chic pad in the trendy part of the big city.  But during the day, she sits high in a tall building at the center of an urban mecca. She works hard and never complains. She has a fancy title. She travels the world. She gets quoted and noted. She has a driver when it’s late.

I, on the other hand, was a different story.

I was fortunate to get my first job at a national radio network through “connections,” but never quite understanding the pay-your-dues mentality, quit within the first few months. My plans changed with the weather. At one point, a grad degree seemed like a good idea.  In my next breath, I packed up my Civic and headed south to work for a financial services corporation.  

My sister had the maternal gene at an early age. She played with dolls and babysat. She immediately took to both Big Guy and Little Guy, quickly earning the favorite aunt title.  When she inherited two boys through her marriage, we knew she would love them as her own.

I, on the other hand, was a different story.

Babysitting was never my thing. I never truly held a baby until Big Guy was born.  And that was only because he was my own. To this day, even if I adore you, I will likely not cuddle your young one.

My sister has a passport with stamps from so many countries that the pages are filled.  She and her family spend a chunk of the summer in Zambia, with stops in London and Spain along the way. I prefer car trips to flights and because of this, accept the fact that I may never see the world.  But never fear, my sister has told me she will be taking my boys to see it.

Funny, with the exception of the occasional bump in the road, my sister turned out exactly as planned.  And although her occasional off the beaten path choices may have surprised my mother, they were nothing compared to the overall surprise she had when I actually turned out OK.

It’s not that she didn’t think I had it in me to do something.  I just didn’t find my way quite like my sister.  While she operated with her feet firmly planted within the box, I walked the edges.

Now, as a mother, I carefully watch my own boys. Knowing that, despite of what I may think, there’s no right way for them to get to wherever it is they need to eventually go. Knowing that whatever path they choose to travel, they’ll each have a different story. Their own story.

As parents, all we can do is hope for a great ending.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.