Nowadays, youngsters try too hard to be adult-like, and kids are “growing up” at lightning speed, changing from bed-wetting toddlers to fad-clad “tweenage” hoodlums within a few years. Youth is such a slippery stage, and innocence should be treasured, not trampled. As I’ve learned from my little sister Andrea, quirky personalities should flower effortlessly — not be suppressed by the inane desire to fit in.

Andrea’s not like other boy-crazy, cell phone addicts her age. She’s not into MySpace or eyeliner, and she acts more like she’s 7 years old rather than 16. You may be wondering what her secret is. I suppose I should mention a minor detail: My sister has mental retardation and autism. Like I said, it’s a minor detail. Because quirkiness also runs in our family.

When we were younger, her challenges were more than just minor details. She pillaged my precious toys, ruined family outings, embarrassed me in public with head-turning tantrums, and alienated my friends. But I’m guilty of being imperfect, too, because I was torn between disowning her and protecting her. I was too frustrated to play my part of an unconditionally accepting older sister.

I only fully grasped Andrea’s diagnosis in junior high school. By that time, my parents had been coping and preparing for almost a decade. As we grew older, her diagnosis shrank to a trivial detail and my love for her ballooned. Andrea lacks nothing. Nor do the people closest to her. Rather, they’ve got a little extra purpose, a little extra joy. Our family laughs and labors as one. And when we’re exhausted and falling apart at the seams, she pieces us together with her irresistible charm.

Andrea’s wandering mind dunks her in a whirlpool of imagination. I am dying to crawl inside her mind and teach her how to form thoughts into words, how to break free and be brave. Maybe even try new things. I wondered what it was like to wake up to a swirl of colors, bombarded by needs and wants, but lacking the skills to obtain or fulfill them. Motivated by that magnetism I feel toward her, I drew from my volunteer experience working with kids with developmental disabilities to jump-start Playful Pals. It was a student-run club with roughly 13 pals and 11 or so eager volunteers that met from time to time to bowl, attend a disability rights fair, swim, picnic, make crafts, race go-karts and more.

Our mission was to enrich the social skills of kids with developmental disabilities, to spread community-wide awareness and basically to have a rear-kickin’ time doing so. My friends and I printed and distributed newsletters that ran statistics, social skills we worked on as a group, professional advice, event summaries, testimonials and colorful photos. Seeing my friends come together and undergo powerful, heartrending experiences was the ultimate gratification. The excitement was cut short as it came time for me to head off to college, but Playful Pals is definitely still my pride and joy.