To the big sisters and brothers who know my pain,
As I’m enveloped in a sweaty, smelly hug I hear the all too familiar encouraging jeer of teenage boys — “oooh” followed by my brother and I laughing his retort “Gross dude, she’s my sister.”
The mumbled apologies and flushed embarrassment that follow are typical in our lives--since my adopted brother has grown older and thus, taller than me. It makes sense, though, since my brother is black and I fall somewhere on the “typical white girl” spectrum. We’re not just talking yoga pants, iced coffee and the inability to “even,” my brother’s adopted and I’m white.
I’m used to “the look”. From the age of five when I went to China to get my little sister and then again at seven when the chocolate chip entered the cookie dough that was our lives. You know the “look” I’m talking about.
The “look” where it is visible on people’s faces as they try and put the United Nations, that is our family together. Adults make assumptions the quickest. First, we’re babysitting, then one-step closer to fostering, and finally make the jump that my siblings are adopted.
Little kids usually have more amusing questions. It’s not our question to answer, so we have let my sister (the Asian-American) and my brother (the African-American) take the lead on how they want to respond. They’re the ones who have to live with the explanation so we let them give it.
This “look” was never something that I read too much into. It had been an aspect of my life for as long as I can remember, comedic relief padded into my day to day life requiring no effort from anyone. But, as anyone with siblings realizes, they’re different than their friends who are only children and there’s even a difference between those of us who are the older or younger sibling. Imagine the subtle, but definitely the differences we experience as the multi-racial sibling.
My sensitivity towards people picking on my baby siblings is that of any big sister. I am allowed to pick on my siblings, in fact, it’s practically my civic duty. But. No one else can pick on them. The sensitivity I felt was heightened.
When people made fun of Asian eyes and their bad driving, they weren’t making stereo-typical jokes. They were making fun of my sister. The N-word wasn’t just ignorant racist spewing, it was someone speaking heinously about my baby brother.
I was ready to fight anyone who thought something as insignificant as skin color could ever measure the kind of person someone was. Let me tell you right now, that rage never goes away. If you ever do come down to physically fighting because you cannot control it, you did the right thing.
As you grow older, you only learn how to control your rage. You get better at hurling acid filled retorts that cut the ignorance short, but you can’t change all of them. Don’t feel worthless because your love for your sibling couldn’t change the clouded judgment of someone who just wanted to hate.
Having a model UN as a family is a gold-mine when it comes to college essays. I’m pretty sure I owe both of the brats a thank you for any and all of my acceptance letters. They changed your life, it isn’t exploiting them to attribute those changes to who you are now, add some flowery language and you’ll have an acceptance committee weeping with emotion.
They’ll get on your nerves, and the “you’re not my real (sister, brother, parent)” will always be the most hurtful thing you’ll ever hear out of their mouth. With that in mind, there is no bond like that between brothers and sisters.
Make sure you tell them you love them and cherish the role they have played in your life (first assure them you’re not drunk or dying because siblings are never really that nice to each other). Then make sure you call them a nerd and say they smell bad… because you know you’ve got an awesome sibling, but you have to make sure to keep them humble.
Sincerely,
The White Girl Big Sister
