Growing up as a boy surrounded by sisters, I never had a big brother. Instead, I had my big sister, Karen. With two older sisters and two younger ones, I was the only boy. But Karen, who was just a year and four months older, became the sibling who filled that big-brother role. She was fierce, protective, and loyal—someone you’d never want to cross. Karen wasn’t your normal girl, she was tough as nails and had sinew like steel, a strength that ran deeper than muscle and had no problem standing up for me when anyone dared to pick on her little brother. If an older kid at school gave me trouble, I only needed to mention it to Karen. She’d handle the situation with the authority and courage of someone twice her size. It got to the point that nobody picked on Karen Hurt’s little brother.
Karen and I were inseparable, like peanut butter and jelly, always together, playing, laughing, and making up our own world of fun. While other kids might tattle on their siblings, that wasn’t our style. I honestly can’t recall a single time either of us tattled on the other. Karen was my protector, a fierce guardian of her little brother, and everyone knew not to mess with her.
Summers were the best, especially out on Grandpa’s farm. From dawn to dusk, we were up and about, exploring, climbing, and getting into all sorts of mischief. One of our strangest but most hilarious activities was stepping in freshly dropped cow poop, letting it squish between our toes. Why did we enjoy it? I can’t say. It was one of those things that made sense only to us, a little thrill in the simple, earthy messiness of farm life.
Karen had a daring spirit, especially when it came to climbing. She’d scale any tree on the farm with the agility of a monkey, fearless and sure-footed. While we had a group of mostly male cousins to play with, it was Karen who stood out. None of us could match her nerve, and if anyone dared to cross her, they’d soon regret it. She didn’t fight like other girls, and she didn’t fight fair. Karen used her hands and feet as though she was some kind of karate freak and when she got really serious, she’d bite down on her tongue before charging at us. It was her signature move, the cue that things were about to get real.
Our favorite pastime was teasing her just enough to spark that legendary temper. We’d rile her up and then take off, running through Grandpa’s cornfield like our lives depended on it. For us, the cornfield was a sanctuary, a place where we could dodge and weave, just barely staying ahead of Karen’s relentless chase. She was quick—a relentless pursuer—but when she was after us, we somehow found a whole new level of speed. It was like being chased by a cheetah, and we were the nervous deer trying to escape.
One summer, after endless chases through the cornfield, Grandpa finally put his foot down. He told us that if we kept tearing through the corn like that, we’d end up with no corn left to eat.
I remember one time, for reasons I can’t explain, I was just lying on the sidewalk, minding my own business. Karen, riding her bike with that determined look in her eyes, told me to move. She warned me, “If you don’t get off the sidewalk, I’m gonna run over you!” Now, a part of me knew she wasn’t joking, but I was stubborn. Surely, she wouldn’t actually run over her own little brother, right? Well, sure enough, she did. The bike wheel rolled right over my forehead, leaving a big, black tire mark stretching from one side of my head to the other. It’s hilarious now, but back then, if I’d been able to, I swear I’d have taken a shot at “teaching her a lesson”!
Then there was the dart incident. I had set up a target on some cardboard boxes outside the garage and was happily throwing darts from inside the door, aiming like a pro. Just as I threw one, Karen—completely clueless—strolled right into the line of fire. I watched in horror as the dart sailed through the air, its pointy tip aimed directly at her shoulder. It stuck there, hanging like a bizarre accessory as she processed what just happened. Then her face changed, and she started chasing me. I ran as fast as I could, and luckily, my survival instincts saved me. She didn’t catch me that day, but it was a close call! Deep down, I figured we were even for her running over my head!
To this day, I don’t know why we had such a fascination of being on the roof of the house. We spent many an hour watching the world go by and then when we got ready to get down, we would just jump!
Sometimes I would be riding on the back of the Bicycle with her and she would go real fast then jump off leaving me to crash. I know it sounds mean, but back then it was our kind of fun.
Once, we were riding our bikes near a strip mall when I crashed, cutting my ankle pretty bad. Karen took one look and said, “I’ll be right back.” Moments later, she returned from the drugstore with a Band-Aid she’d swiped, since we didn’t have any money, promising herself she’d pay later. I don’t know if she ever did, but in that moment, she was my hero—doing whatever it took to help her little brother.
And who could forget the time when “Miss Fearless” and I decided to turn Grandpa’s front porch into our personal obstacle course? We were leaping from one concrete pedestal to the next like it was our own Olympics. Karen was practically an athlete—she always landed with perfect form. But then, in a moment that would go down in family history, she missed the jump. She went down nose-first, hitting the concrete hard enough to break it. For the first time ever, she was the one who ended up in the hospital. Even superheroes have their off days, I guess!
Lord knows I have thousands of memories with Karen, but not enough time or space to tell them all. I will say this…As teenagers, If Karen had ten dollars for gas money for her car, her little brother got five of it for his!
If you didn’t know any better this story can make Karen sound mean, but it was the total opposite. I couldn’t have asked for a better sister than Karen. She was my protector, my partner in mischief, and my best friend rolled into one. We were so close, bound by more than just family; we had this unspoken bond that only siblings who grow up side by side can understand. Those days were some of the best times of my life—running, laughing, and pushing every boundary together. Whether we were dodging her bike tires, escaping through cornfields, or surviving a dart incident, life with Karen was a wild, unforgettable adventure. Looking back, I realize just how lucky I was to have her by my side, making every moment richer, funnier, and full of love.