My parents were kind enough to include me in most major life decisions, even at a young age. Or they kept me informed, at the very least. I was always warned before a big move, which happened most every year back then, and only towards the end of a given school semester, so I could say goodbye to all my friends. They talked to me about the political choices they made, decisions to put down family pets, and asked where we should vacation each summer. I can’t remember if I was truly involved in these decisions. I don’t know if what I said really made a difference in their choices, or if their plans for the family were set in stone. But I was always asked, and I was usually happy with the results. Whether I had a say or not, I was given the illusion of choice.
One year, when I was nine, my parents presented me with a big choice. Would I like to go on vacations, or would I rather have a little sister? My parents had asked me to make either/or decisions before: karate classes or book-orders, pancakes or waffles, roller-skates or roller-blades? Those were trivial choices, but this was the easiest one I had ever made.
F*ck yeah, I want a baby sister.
Turns out, adoption is a big pain and takes a long time, especially when you’re trying to navigate the corrupt adoption systems of pre-reform Guatemala. Kidnappings and child trafficking were very real occurrences, and many foster shelters didn’t provide proper care for the children they housed. The process took nearly a year, with my parents working hard to know the agency, my sister’s birth mother, and the foster mother who was raising her at the time. All to ensure that we were adopting from a safe and honest agency. There were video calls and pictures. Piles of documents and forms to fill out. We each had blood draws: my father, mother, little brother, and me. And I remember a phone call that drove my mother to tears. I still don’t know if those tears were happy or sad.
But everything came through eventually. My parents were able to schedule a trip to Guatemala, to finally meet my sister in person, and to finally bring her home. My grandmother came to to stay with my brother and I for that week, cooking us meals and making sure I got to school on time. I rode my bike to and from school every day while living there, and I could barely contain myself in class for that entire week. I was already an overactive kid, and I was excited to meet the little sister that I had only seen through a computer screen. Friday came around, and my parents brought her to meet me at school. I got out of class that final day and met them waiting for me just outside the building. I smiled, and she smiled back because she recognized me from pictures. She’s never been anything but my baby sister ever since.
I love my siblings. They’re the two most important people in the world to me, and they’re what I miss most about home. I’m in a bizarre period of my life right now. My family moved from my hometown two years ago, and I don’t spend enough time at the new house to consider it a home. I’ve left all my friends behind in Arizona and Montana, and I don’t know where my life will lead from here. But my brother and sister are constant anchors in my life. They are the people that I will always have and who I will always be there for. Because even when everything else in life passes, I have them and they have me.
By: Parker Holz