Not Little Women

There are 4 of us girls, babies our mother had, each from a different father. We don't look alike. We probably sound a little alike. But it seems we are each almost more like our fathers than our mother, in appearance anyway. I'm as white as they come; my two middle sisters are half Mexican, and the oldest is white like me. I'm tall; the oldest is very short, and the middle two are average height.

When we were little girls, we naturally spent a lot of time together. We were all girly girls. Christmas in our house was like Mattel threw up  - Barbies and Barbie paraphernalia everywhere. On holidays our mother would attempt to dress us somewhat alike. Our babysitter made us each a Holly Hobby doll, each according to our size. We each had a first holy communion in the Catholic church, complete with white dresses, tights, and veil.

When we fought, it was nearly always the middle two against my oldest sister and me. I don't know if it was because the middle two look alike and we didn't, or what. I didn't even realize my dad wasn't their dad until my parents split up. It just never occurred to me, even though they were brown. Their "real" dads were not a part of our lives, and I, an innocent kid never imagined they might have another father somewhere.

My sisters have always been a huge part of my life. From making me an auntie for the first time at age 13, to telling me about periods and boys, to sharing motherhood with me, they have been there. Of course with 4 girls there will be fights and drama; even with all of us in our 40s, that still happens. But beneath it all is love. You don't fight with people you don't love; it isn't worth the effort. At least, not for me.

We've all suffered our various trials, starting with losing our mother when I, the youngest, was 8 years old. And as we grew up, the tribulations added up. Mental illness, financial problems, abusive men, sick children. We've been through it. And yet, the four of us - we smile and shine. We laugh and drink and play. We tell the world, "Fuck it; I got this."

But make no mistake: we weep, we fall, we crumble, we melt. But the substance running through us, whatever that thing is that makes us wake up, take another step, another risk, another try -  there seems to be a lot of it. Because through our darkest fears, our scariest realities, our driest seasons - we keep going, loving, doing, being.

I love these women more than I ever knew when I was younger. They were my first best friends, my worst enemies, my tormenters and my protectors. They can take me down, bring up, sit beside me and hold me in a way no one else in this world can.

They are

My

Sisters.