I think I had too much to say.
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I always wanted a baby brother or sister because being the only child got lonely sometimes. I always sat there in my room, playing with my Barbies, but always wanted someone to play with. Of course I had friends my age, but “they couldn’t live with me,” my mother repeatedly told me after my crying sessions when they left. I wanted someone to mess with and blame things on. If I took the last cookie off the plate, I couldn’t blame anyone. It was clearly me. I mean, I loved being spoiled by both of my parents, but my dad wouldn’t want to sit down and have tea parties with me and my stuffed animals, and my mother got tired of it after an hour or so. So where did that leave me? Alone with Mr. Penguin with his overstuffed white belly, and my favorite pink bear with the bright yellow hat that I can’t remember the name of now.
It was hot. Well maybe it wasn’t, but that’s how I felt. I tried to hide the tears that were about to come down by smiling. That always worked. “Cool,” I said. My dad could see that there was some subliminal message that I wasn’t telling him, but he went along with it. I stared into the baby’s big brown eyes, complemented by long eyelashes I envied. He looked back at me and smiled. “Hi Legend, I’m your big sister.”
It was a regular day after school, but I decided to go over my dads for a little while before I went home. My dad picked me up from Broad & Olney and on the ride to his house, he blasted some good ole hip hip in his oversized truck. When we reached a parking spot, he stopped me.
“Symone, I got a surprise for you.”
“What is it,” I said eagerly.
I wasn’t used to surprises from my dad, better yet ones that followed through. He continued into the house, and I followed behind him. The ten step passage seemed like a flight of five stairs due to my excitement. I was cheesing, thinking my surprise was something nice for me. Money, or a new phone. You know, what most kids my age looked forward to. My face immediately dropped.
My step mom was sitting there with a baby in her arms.
“Who is he?” I asked. It came out harsher than I expected.
“This is Legend, he’s your brother. That’s your surprise.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should yell at him for having ANOTHER kid without me knowing or if I should pretend to be happy. I didn’t know what to do right then and there. I was thinking about his stupid wife for giving birth to the baby without telling me, and him for lying to me. The day my “little brother” was conceived was the very same day my dad cancelled plans with me. Now I could see why.
“Oh,” I finally got out, “how old is he?”
“Three months,” my step mom replied. Then, silence.I hated my dad. Well, I didn’t exactly hate him but I was really upset and hurt. This wasn’t the first time he left our hut to make a village with another family. I had a little sister too who was one years old. I didn’t meet her until after her first birthday and even meeting her wasn’t intentional. This wasn’t the first time he let me down and this wasn’t the first time I was left disappointed. But I couldn’t play the victim. I had to come to terms that I now had a one year old sister and three month old brother that I had to take care of. That I had to be around because it wasn’t their fault that they’re here, and had to make sure that I was a good big sister to look up to. I’ll never forget that feeling.
I used to think of disappointment as losing one of my Barbie dresses, or Barney getting turned off when it was time to watch football. But I realized that disappointment can stem from the person you love the most. I realized that I can’t play the victim when things go wrong because you’ll have to deal with it eventually. I don’t dislike my little brother and sister till this day. They’re still my little superstars and I hope I can be a good enough big sister to them. I don’t blame my dad repeatedly for the situation, because his reasons for not telling me could go further than what my age is suppose to know. But I love them all. Victims will always stay victims unless they realize that at the end of the day, you have to get over it.