Blowing my sister's trumpet

My baby sister got her A-level results today: straight As. I am so proud of her.

She always thinks she's the less-smart one, and that my parents aren't proud of her. She is less intellectually aggressive than my brother and I, and more of a balanced person, so it might seem this way. But not only is my sister lovely, brave, kind-hearted, caring, funny and beautiful (she thinks I have rosy spectacles, but I don't - she's not perfect, she's just pretty damn awesome), she is also proper intelligent and today I hope she's proved that to herself beyond doubt. And she works damn hard: she has a reading problem that's only been identified in the last year or so, so it takes her longer to do the same work. And she's done all this whilst actually having friends and a social life. In short, ROCK ON LITTLE SISTER!

Because it's basically all about me, I have been thinking about youthful brilliance, specifically mine. I wouldn't go through it all again, not for worlds - the intense stress of endless exams upon which your future hangs - but I do miss being sure of my own exceptionalness. I wish I knew what best to do to make use of my mind - it's a pretty good one, or it used to be - to use it well, and to be happy.

My sister's going to university to study psychology. I'm sort of jealous - it's something I half wish I'd done - and all of that glorious, privileged, terrible, shining time ahead of her to explore who she is and learn abstruse things and make friends to last her through the darkest days of her life and be ridiculous in her youthful excesses and be unreserved and be wonderful, before she has to start worrying about jobs and what the hell she's doing with her life and - God preserve us! - the fact that she hasn't got a pension. I'll be cheering her on, all the way.