All my life, I hated being an only child. I envied all the other kids who had siblings to play with, to fight with, and to grow with.
Sure, I had some great cats that I would pretend were my brothers… but it just wasn’t quite the same.
Here’s the catch though: technically I do have two half-sisters and one half-brother. My dad was married to a woman long before he met my mom and that marriage did not end well. The three kids were kept from my dad and they grew bitter and resentful due to the fallout.
I knew the general concept that my dad had kids from another marriage, but I’d never met them, nor did I piece together that they were technically my family too.
One day when I was in first grade, I found out that I was going to meet the oldest woman, who was about 30 years old, and I was told that she was my half-sister! I was beyond elated… my prayers had been answered!
All day at school I was brimming with excitement and could barely contain myself. As soon as the final bell rang, I ran home, flung my schoolbag into my room, and paced around the kitchen waiting.
Finally I heard the knock on the door and ran to answer it as fast as my little legs could take me.
