I had a hot date last Saturday. Sure, I was taller than the girl by almost two feet, and the hand holding mine in the movie theatre was a tad sticky from a Ring Pop, not to mention that “Hugo” was not my first choice for a movie, but that evening with my baby sister was the event of my Thanksgiving break.

Two years ago, nights like these were the norm, rather than precious, semi-annual occasions. My sister coached me through relationship issues and I helped her transition through four separate best friends during the first grade. We were confidants, dance buddies and “Law & Order” junkies.

Now, I’m a voice on the telephone that occasionally materializes and a presence that barges back into her home, distracts her parents and monopolizes cuddle time with her dog. Each time I come back, it takes a little longer for her to recognize me as her playmate. This past trip, it took four days. Our movie outing was the first time she touched me, giggled with me, held my hand. At Christmas, I may have to wait an entire week.

I’m always surprised by something when I come home. A new dining room table. Our favorite Japanese restaurant closed. Small things, sure, but they add up. And the street goes both ways.

This is not from lack of trying. I text my dad constantly. I talk on the phone with my mom daily; she sends me letters once a week. Tracking down my sister between horseback-riding lessons, dance class and play dates is tricky, but we still talk most days.

With all this back-and-forth between my parents and myself, I am amazed that they still know so little about my life at Georgetown. I’ve come to realize that my world here is just too huge to cram into a daily half-hour phone call. Invariably, important aspects are lost. With that in mind, you might wonder why I try so hard to keep in such close contact with my family, knowing that it will be a futile struggle.

Simply put, I’ve tried college without my family, and it was impossible. Last semester, a fight with my mom and a long business trip for my dad resulted in my not speaking to any member of my family for three weeks. Without them, I didn’t know who I was anymore, almost as if I’d found myself in the middle of a lake, unable to swim and unsure even of which direction to go. I had a support system here of friends who loved me and cared about me, but they only knew the polished version of me that had arrived at Georgetown with straightened teeth, de-frizzed hair and a brand-new J. Crew wardrobe. One of the best things about college is that it allows us to reinvent ourselves and become the people we always wanted to be. That said, it also makes it easy to forget where we came from and how we got here.

One of my favorite quotes is Faulkner’s assertion that “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” For me, that’s certainly true. The college me isn’t a fraud or some veneer, it just isn’t the whole me. My family loved and appreciated me even in those horrible junior high years before I learned to value myself; and when my awkward phase ended, they were the only people who didn’t pay any more attention to me for my less geeky looks and more polished social graces.

Talking to my family daily is a way for me to access reality, to remind myself of what is actually important and what I can leave aside. They don’t buy my baloney, but they don’t tire of my venting either. I can tell them anything I like about my world here, and they have no choice but to believe in the validity of my side of the story. They give me a shoulder to cry on and a kick in the shins when I need it.

I don’t see my need for my family slackening any time soon. So I’ll keep on pursuing my marathon text conversations with my father and phone chats with my mom. Over Christmas, I plan to steal every minute I can with my sister, with giggle, chatters and much hand-holding. Hopefully in 10 years’ time, when she’s in her freshman year somewhere, chats with me can give her the same peace, solace and grasp on reality that her young voice currently gives me.

NICOLE TRAWICK is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service.