Mia Lasic-Ellis

Dirt cake, Grandma and a wind-up lobster. These aren’t just things you may witness walking down the mean streets of Maine but essential components to Nick Jr.’s 2002 show “Max and Ruby.” If this show wasn’t a staple of your childhood, the cartoon revolves around Ruby and her younger brother Max playing with friends, celebrating holidays and going about their day-to-day. This often includes Max causing some form of mischief that derails Ruby’s usually boring plans.

“Max and Ruby” became one of the most memorable forms of media I consumed throughout my younger years, its catchy theme song and comforting stylistic appearance making the show a household favorite. From the ages of two to five years old, it was my primary form of entertainment when my parents were too busy to keep me occupied. As the only child until I was roughly seven years old, the dynamic between the characters intrigued me: I early on misconstrued Ruby to be Max’s mother, not yet realizing their parents never seemed to be in the picture.

Throughout my siblingless years, I grappled with Ruby’s unkind and bossy demeanor towards her brother, and I was specifically troubled by her attempts to prevent Max from making a dirt cake for their Grandma’s birthday. She insisted her angel surprise cake with raspberry fluff icing was the only worthy surprise. Not allowing Max to pick out his own clothes and forcing him to dress up as a prince instead of a vampire like he wanted made me write her off as a tyrannical character, although even then I knew that she was a natural-born leader (game recognizes game). Yet, my perspective soon shifted.

In April 2012, my sister was born and began to impede on my day-to-day as well. The quiet time I had to myself suddenly turned into gurgling and crying and laughter. This thing that couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation began to follow me around the house, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it. (I had requested a dog from my parents and was dissatisfied with this counteroffer.) I realized my sister resembled Max and needed more guidance on what and what not to do. Much like Ruby, I got her out of precarious situations, like preventing sitting in the dryer or telling her what toys, books and shows were worth her time (good taste is not given but developed). Though I had support from my parents in raising my sister, I gave her the personality and loyalty only an older sister could provide.

Needless to say, when my brother was born, he then had two older sisters to help him distinguish right from wrong and tell him what to do, only further developing my Ruby complex.

After the birth of my siblings, Max’s antics now seemed more annoying and problematic than they had previously, and I saw how Ruby, a seven-year-old bunny, was left in charge to run a household and raise her brother while growing up alongside him. Yet, I admired how she did so with slight annoyance, patience and pleasure.

Like many eldest daughters, Ruby carried, for lack of a better word, a burden in ensuring the very best for her brother, even at the expense of her own childhood. Ruby served as a motherly figure in Max’s life, and while I have never had to shoulder such a large responsibility, I know what it’s like to examine life under a lens split into two, or in my case three, equal fragments: three plates on the counter, three stockings by the Christmas tree, three pairs of muddied shoes by the front door. I may have been alone for seven years, but I only began viewing my life with any significance after I started seeing everything in threes.

“Max and Ruby” illustrated the simple joys of childhood—birthday parties, play dates, the joy of celebrating holidays and fun visits with Grandma—but it also showed me the importance of patience, kindness and the privilege of having two built-in friends I get to boss around.

When Max calls for Ruby’s help after reading a scary bedtime story in “The Blue Tarantula” episode, Ruby reminds Max, “Looking under beds is a big sister’s job.” I will look under 1,000 more beds just for the chance to grow up alongside my siblings in every lifetime.

Catalina Escobedo is a member of the Class of 2026.