Two in the Same

We were always a normal family, just like the one down the cult-de-sac or the one across the street, but what does the word “normal” really mean? What does it take to be defined as normal? Well there is no definition, really. The things you know, things you grow up around, people you see everyday, that’s what normal is, and it’s unique to every person. So I knew for a fact my family was normal, but I also knew to others things were different, and I noticed. I noticed all of the stares; their eyes leading our way down the isle of the store, the meant-to-be-quiet whispers that we always managed to hear clearly. My sister, Makenzie, noticed too. She knew people were judging her, making fun of every move she made, mocking the voice she spoke with, but she didn’t care. Would a three year old child care if people were watching as they through themselves to the floor in a tantrum, over not getting their favorite toy? I bet they don’t even open their blurry eyes, overflowing with crocodile tears, to even notice. Neither does Makenzie, that’s all she really is though. A three year old child; condemned to a eighteen year old body. Her and I were complete opposites. Sometimes, regretfully, I would question if she was even a real member of our family. From many generations of thick black hair, pallid complexions, and petite figures, how could I have a blue eyed, light haired, giant as a sister? There was never a specific day that the light bulb brightened, I had just always known that something, nothing I could put my finger on, was different. The way she would talk, as if her tongue would get stuck, repeating only a specific part of the word over and over again, like she was imitating a broken record. The way she could always get the most expensive power ranger toy she wanted, just by screaming until mom couldn’t take it anymore. It was hard to understand how she was so much older than me, yet I was the one told to set the example. I was always the one that was told to, “let it go” when she called me a name, or to, “give it back” if she wasn’t sharing our toys. The excuse that she’s “different” was getting old, and I didn’t care what the excuse was, because it still wasn’t fair for me. Why did God pick me to have her as a sister? I had always held somewhat of a grudge toward Makenzie. I was forced to grow up faster, and I blamed her for taking away my carefree childhood years. I still remember learning what the word “retard” meant. Everyone at school can joke around, calling their friends names, and I resented them. Even though I know they don’t live with someone of that disability, they don’t know that even at a slower functioning brain level, they can still decipher the judgment in your voice, the anger was always present. Whenever someone would use that word, a clear image of someone making fun of my sister, and her crying, confused at why they were taunting her, always appeared in my head. I would try to shake the picture away, squinting my eyes tightly, as if crumbling the image and holding in tears at the same time. I hadn’t ever been confronted with a real situation, having to stand up for my sister, until I found out someone was tormenting her. From that day I knew it was my job, and would forever be my job, to protect her. I will always remember that day. That day answered all of my lingering questions. I now know she is part of our family, despite physical differences, and personality traits. I try everyday to set good examples for her and teach her life lessons with everything I do, and even being mentally challenged, she has still taught me more about life, and even myself, then I could ever teach her. She has taught me to be okay with who you are, and nobody can tell you if you’re “normal” or not. This world of criticism, but nobody can hurt you without your permission. I love my sister for everything she is. I plan to live each day of my life to its fullest potential. Twice as much, actually; for the both of us.

Word Count: 747