“Sari, you’re not afraid of anything!” my brother reminded me after I bluntly admitted, “Don’t worry, Dad; I’ll lock all the doors at night. I’m the one who’s scared of being home alone anyway.”
What felt like a compliment was nothing but a worthless lie — a believable illusion, according to my brother. Now, I’ve been a big sister to my older brother ever since I can remember. I’ve stood up for him in the face of bullies, I’ve taken care of him when my parents weren’t home, I’ve helped him with schoolwork and I’ve definitely learned a thing or two about patience. A less than 2% chance, I have had the opportunity of being a sister to someone with autism, a designated role model to my brother.
Quite frankly, I listen to Christmas music while I cook dinner for my brother and watch “My Little Pony” after I tuck him into bed. He sleeps soundly as I try to remember if I locked the back door after taking our dog outside to pee. I did. My mom wears pink snowman pajamas as she speaks over the phone with her accountant and smiles at me, still worried about taxes. My dad comforts my big sister, who feels homesick in college, and offers her groundbreaking advice — all before geeking out at the way the doors open on his car’s tiny toy model.
So what if we’re all just kids? Kids with warm voices who wear suits and high heels. Kids who teach less experienced kids the difference between right and wrong and the proper way to hold a fork. Maybe even kids who believe monsters don’t hide underneath our beds. Did they really check, though? How would they know
UF PRISM 