Adopting My Family

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Adopting My Family
Mar 24, 2003

I have spent my life collecting interesting people to be added into my birth family. Sure. I come from a huge extended family. But. I am greedy. I think that when it comes to family, the more the merrier. And so, ever so slowly, my family tree is growing...

It was Grandparent’s day in Kindergarten and I had to wake up to the realization that although there was still a Santa Claus, I didn’t have any grandparents to invite. They had all decided to die before I was born. I know. I would be the only orphan in my class. I had little time to find at least one grandparent. Amy Morgan, the brunette at my table, would have four grandparents representing her at the big event. She snobbily offered to share her least favorite with me. Um. No thanks.

I considered letting my mom attend so that I would have someone to serve a cupcake to, but she would have had to drag the babies along. I was a pretty fussy five-year-old. I didn’t want a grandmother with babies.

I decided to invite the old, gray haired lady who lived down the street. She was honored and told me so. She even got little tears in her eyes to be so generously included in my life. I understood why someone would feel special for getting to come to my class for dessert. Years later I realize that she was about thirty seven, or my age now, when I adopted her. I am really surprised that she didn’t stuff me in a closet.

So. Nana and Grandpa became the grandparents to all six kids in my family. And. If I must say myself, I chose well. I mean. They owned the Corner Store in Zena, NY. I know. Not only could they come to my classroom and watch me sing songs, but I could help in their store after school. Oh. They had more varieties of candy behind the counter than I could count in those days. And. As you can well guess, being a part of their family meant that I could devour any sweets that arrived without wrappers. (I found that pinching the bags worked best….)

They live in Florida now. I know. Can you believe it? When I was a kid they had a candy store. And. Now as an adult they are still making my dreams come true: relatives in Florida! Now that I am a flight attendant, I get to visit them at whim.

Betty is my Colorado mom. See. I would like to say that I have changed a lot as I have aged and that my criteria of choosing relatives has less to do with sugar than character. But, the truth is that Betty is known for her banana cream pies. Great mom to have around. No. She doesn’t let me get away with anything.

“Holly, are you ok?” She asked.

“Better than James Brown.” I said.

“When will you be back at work?”

“The doctor isn’t sure.” I sigh.

“Do you need anything? She softly asked.

”Yes.”

She bristled. Ready to give everything she had. “What.” She demanded.

“Pie. Betty, I’m going to die without your pie.” I say.

“Oh. Don’t you scare me.” She laughed. “Pie can wait. Questions first.” She said. “How bad is it? How many seizures?”

“Oh. Not so bad. Really. Don’t worry. Pie?” I tried lowering my voice for effect. “Betty. I have been waiting a whole month. Let’s eat now. We can talk later.”

She stood holding the pie staring me down. “How many seizures?”

“One a day.”

“That’s too many.”

“I know.”

“How’s the meds?”

I reached for the pie. She held it back.

“Not working yet.”

“Make sure you remember to take them every day, ok..?”

“Yes, Mother.” I agreed.

“...or no more pie for you.” She chided.

My adopted sister Linda and I argue over who adopted whom first.

I recently went to visit her in Arizona so that she could help me forget that I was now protected under the American Disability Act because a portion of my brain died in a car accident twelve years ago, and decided that now, one of the happiest times in my life, was a good time for me to get slapped with the word Epilepsy and experiment with the side effects of medication.

She figured that I needed to join in a water aerobic classes that she was teaching. It was fun splashing around with all of the water logged ladies. In between the exercises there was plenty time for talking.

One lady turned to me. “Oh. Are you the Elk woman?”

“Excuse me?” I said, insulted. Are elks related to seizures?

The lady turned to Linda. “Is this the Elk woman that you were telling us about?”

“Yes.” Linda said.

I know. Not the animal that you most want to be compared to. “Elk woman?” I hedged. No explanation. Nothing. She left me hanging. Oh. Ok. Fine.

Now Linda and I have so many things in common. We recently gave ourselves drastic hair cuts, bought purple winter coats, and have decided that there is nothing wrong with long walks as opposed to short runs. We each have a birthday the day after a major holiday and we can finish each other’s sentences.

Later, after dinner, I asked her if she were also an Elk woman, since we were so similar.

“No. How could I be? I am a vegetarian.” She said.

“Oh. Am I an Elk-woman because I like to eat elk?” I asked, light going on.

“Hey. My husband says that he has never, ever seen a woman put the elk away like you do. He thinks that we could find you a good elk-hunting husband right here on the mountain.” She said, laughing.

“You know. I think that you must be the real Elk-woman.” I said. “You are the one married to the hunter.

And since I am the one writing this column, let me have the last word. Linda, the running, green eating, strong woman who is married to the handsome hunting man, is the real Elk-woman. And I, her adopted sister, am willing to support her by being her Elk-woman sister.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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