Apr 1

Written by: cs4aauthor3
4/1/2008 8:00 AM

My big sister is “disabled.” When we were younger, other words were used-- most of them negative. As a toddler, I wrote letters to my Dad, asking him to fix things and signed them “your unhappy baby.” My Grandmother often told me to feel sorry for my sister because she was different. I didn’t and I don’t.

My big sister is my hero. She gets frustrated and sometimes she gets mad and yells at me or hits me and I get mad too. We don’t always like each other. But she’s my big sister and she loves me and I love her no matter what.

She is very strong. She can pick me up and squeeze the stuffing out of me with just one arm. She is pretty—she has always known how to do her make-up and hair and dress nicely—I’m more of a tomboy. She is also very clever—inside of a month she learned how to tie her shoelaces one-handed and she re-learned how to drive a car with just one hand. She is also generous—she tells me things that nobody else will (like that I should be nicer to my friends, brush my teeth in the morning, and eat snacks that aren’t too sugary).

Sometimes I feel bad that she has to put up with so much stuff, I wouldn’t want to trade places with her. But her example inspires me to reach inside myself and be the most generous and hard-working person I can be-- because she doesn’t accept less than that from herself or from me. And that’s why she’s my hero.

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