Childish Ways

I've always believed whole-heartedly in the mantra, "fake it till you make it." If I don't want to feel something, I should just pretend I don't feel it till it goes away, right? I've heard people say it takes strength to show emotion, and in my head I think, what a cop-out. Of course it would be nice if spilling your drama over into everyone else's lives were the "strong" thing to do, so go ahead, say whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better, and then, please, don't try to apply your philosophy to me.

We adopted my little brother when I was seven. I had seven whole years of a ridiculously idyllic childhood; my parents took us to church, homeschooled us, and were 100% invested in pouring out God's love on us. We weren't poor, we weren't exposed to anything children shouldn't be exposed to, we were just completely immersed in love.

By we, I mean my older brother and I. Ben is 2 years older. Let's talk about that for a moment. I have this older brother worship syndrome that I try to keep under control, but it's really hard because I want to be EXACTLY like him. Indulge me while I gush about him really quick: he always seems to have his life under control- even when he has NO idea what he's doing, he has this calm, intellectual solidness about him that I have admired from the time I was little. He is one of the smartest people I know, and he is ridiculously supportive of pretty much every part of my life whenever I need him. I also admire the way he loves his girlfriend, who happens to be super high-quality.

So all that to say that I have a lot of good things in my life. At eight, (1997) we had two additions to our family. Grace was born in March, Alex was adopted in October. To say we underestimated the adjustment we would have to make would be a gross understatement, but that's what happened. I remember overhearing a few phone conversations my grandma had with my mom while she and my dad were over in Russia gathering up our tiny, bony bundle of joy. "He threw Jack's glasses over the balcony? In the middle of a mall?" I gathered that he had thrown a fit or two since my parents had gotten custody, but I assumed he would calm down once he got home. He'll be so happy to have a new family, I thought. He was going to share Ben's room, and we couldn't wait for him to come home and see it. We had gone shopping for clothes, toys, all the things a destitute five-year-old would need, but we were going to try not to overwhelm him with too much wealth in the first day. Finally the night came that we were to pick them up from the airport, and we arrived plenty early. Practically our whole church plus more friends had shown up to welcome them all home, and I remember being annoyed that someone had made a banner because I hadn't thought of making a bigger, better one. The plane finally arrived at the gate, and an eternity later, I spotted my parents and ran for it. I wanted the first hug, (in case you haven't noticed yet, I was just a little competitive) and I got it.