The Rio Olympics, while containing breathtaking feats of strength and athleticism, has suffered a slew of cringe-worthy problems. While blatant sexism has received the bulk of complaints, the treatment of Simone Biles’ family is just as bad, and highlights an important issue that isn’t talked about enough.
An announcer referred to Biles’ parents, her biological grandparents who adopted the gymnast, as her grandparents whom she calls Mom and Dad. When criticized, the announcer reiterated that they weren’t her parents, even if they were her mom and dad. While that sentence makes absolutely no sense, the announcer’s attitude is common.
I have two adopted siblings. My oldest sibling and brother entered our family before my father even did; my mother took him in as a single woman. The bond my mother and brother share is inexplicable and profound. Since he is twelve years older than me, he and I aren’t extremely close, but I never once doubted that he was my brother. My older sister joined the family just a few days before she turned seven and I turned five (we’re two years and two days apart). I always viewed her coming into the family as a blessing, and the experience has shaped me so completely that I even wrote my college essay about it. I never differentiated between my biological brother and my non-biological brother and sister. They were all my big siblings whose jobs were to annoy me and be annoyed in return.
Although we’re all fiercely devoted to each other, we’ve received our fair share of hurtful comments. For example: “She’s not your real sister. She’s your cousin.” or “Oh, I get why he doesn’t look like you. He’s not your real brother.” I always repeat with clenched teeth that yes, he is my real brother and yes, she is my real sister.
All of this makes me wonder what the definition of a real family is. Are we made of pixie dust? Are we really holograms, turned on and off with the flick of a switch? Why aren’t we real? And what makes us fake?
People always say you can’t choose your family, but if I’ve learned anything throughout my life, I’ve learned that such a statement is a lie. Your family contains those whom you’d bleed for, and who would bleed for you. Your mothers are those who pluck you out of danger and into their arms. Your fathers are those who see your need, and meet it without blinking an eye. Your brothers are those who stand by you when everyone else walks away. Your sisters are those who cradle you when you’re choking out tears. Your family is made up of the people who never stop loving you. And that’s the most real thing I know.
