Wednesday, June 16, 2010

I AM NOT ADOPTED--JUST NOT A SUPERMODEL!


November 10, 2009




My older sister stands at 5'11 and is a size four. Her stomach is concave and I'm pretty sure the only muffin top she's ever experienced is the blueberry kind behind the bakery counter. She has long wavy (easily straightened) brown locks and perfectly sized perky you-know-whats that have never had to be poured into an unsexy minimizer bra. She has a passion for fashion, exquisite taste and obviously the body to make it work. No sweats for sister. She is always looking fabulous even if she simply throws on jeans and a sweater. Oh...and she is truly one of the kindest, wisest and most beautiful (inside and out) people I know. She is my best friend, my confidante and the greatest blessing in my life.

It wasn't always this way. Growing up in the shadow of my super-model sized sister was tough. I felt less than, ugly and sick and tired of everyone always asking me if we were really related. But maturity, some therapy, a supportive mom and a stint away at a university where no one knew I was Lisa's sister helped me to move out of her shadow and into my own light. Then, I lived in San Francisco for six years where no one knew about my super svelte sibling so I kind of forgot about the daily dealings with people and their stupid, incessant comments.

Now I am back down south and living in the same neighborhood as my sister. My children are old enough to be in the same social circles as my sister's kids which means that we frequent similar moms' circles through schools, sports and other activivities. Thus, the comments have been coming so fast and furious, I am having trouble navigating my way through it all over again.
My sister is completely oblivious (and has always been) to the looks and attention she draws when she walks into a room. She knows she's unusually tall and she believes me when I tell her about the constant barrage of commentary but after our recent trip to the nail salon, she is really starting to get it. We walked in together and the women working there (speaking at high speed Vietnamese) were abuzz. See, last time I was in they disovered that Lisa was my sister and they simply couldn't get over it. There was a lot of laughing and a lot of sarcasm via Vietnamese but I could tell, it was sarcasm.

"She your sister?" they questioned as if it was a literal impossibility. "She really your sister. She your real sister? You have same parent?" I thought about bringing dear old mom in for show and tell but instead decided to come in with my sister. The manicurists stopped what they were doing to gather around us for a side to side look. I felt like an insect being inspected inside a jar. Finally, my sister looked at me and said, "I get it. You need to find a new mani/pedi place."
That is, of course, an extreme example. I don't feel like a science experiment on a daily basis. But, I actually started counting and on average, I get two comments a day about how much I don't look like my sister. Usually, it goes something like this...

"Lisa's your sister?"

"Yep," I reply, ready for what always comes next.

"She's so tall and skinny."

"She is," I answer back, waiting for the next predictable observation.

"You guys don't look anything alike."

"I know," I say as if on automatic pilot.

An awkward pause.

"I mean...(inevitable back-peddling) you are pretty too but she's so tall and skinny."

"Yep, she is."

Another awkward pause. And we move on--awkwardly.
I've pretty much accepted the routine dialogue as part of who I am and I'm okay with it. But once in awhile someone will say the darndest thing and I reach my limit. Like...today for example. A mutual acquaintance realized who my sister was and got that all-too-familiar-to-me look on her face. She stayed on script with her questioning but then added, "Are you from the same mother? Wait, are you adopted?" Really? Do I really have to answer such a question? I thought about it for a second and replied, "Believe it or not, we came out of the very same vagina." The poor girl stared back at me in horror. Maybe she was embarrassed or maybe she was offended. Either way, she was silent.

I guess I have my new response.

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