What I remember most is the looks.
At the grocery store, people were trying to figure out my family—how all these black, Hispanic, and white children belonged to the same woman.
Insatiably curious strangers prevented my mother from commenting on her “beautiful family,” hoping she would explain it to us. She never did this.
I love that she never felt like she had to explain herself to anyone for her children.
It all started with the fact that there were only three of us – my biological brother, sister and I – an ordinary American, blue collar family. But when my parents decided to adopt children, our world expanded.
Since then, the number of our brothers and sisters has fluctuated. We usually had four to six children at home. Over the years, my parents have adopted five my adopted brothers and sistersbringing our total to eight.
I grew up the eldest in a family built thanks to foster family and adoption shaped me in ways I didn't understand, but now I feel them everywhere.
Inadequacy taught me empathy.
We didn't fit into the “nice little American family” mold. My younger brothers and sisters maybe I was too young to notice people's stares, but I wasn't. I've seen disapproving looks when my two-year-old foster sister threw a carton of eggs onto the grocery store floor or melted in the cereal aisle.
It was humiliating to feel different. Feel like “that family.” One that stood out for the wrong reasons.
Looking back it's taught me empathy at an early age. To this day, I try to be aware of when others feel like they don't measure up or live up to some impossible standard. I want people to feel like they can be themselves around me.
I realized that just because something hurts, it doesn't mean it shouldn't be done.
People often told my mother, “Oh, I'll never be able to foster a child. I get too attached. It will break my heart if they come home.”
My mother hated these comments. It broke her heart every time we got a call that one of our siblings was leaving. She loved these children as if they were her own, and then they moved on, often returning to situations that did not seem stable. She was powerless to stop it and grieved greatly.
People don't I want to educate because it will hurt when the kids are gone, but my mom taught me that you have to let your heart hurt if it means you can help those who are hurting.
In a large family we have learned to pull our weight
I vaguely remember do housework before my adoptive brothers and sisters arrived, but I bright think about things to do later. Suddenly my mom was overwhelmed and help became non-negotiable. At age 11, I was responsible for putting my one- and two-year-old sisters to bed. By the age of 12 I was the family dishwasher, and by 17 I was the laundress. And, of course, I look after the children.
Every day was a lesson in teamwork and helping. Not only for me, but also for my brothers and sisters. Many of us who grew up in this house went on to become entrepreneurs. I don't think this is a coincidence.
If there's something good out there, you better get it before it's gone.
Scarcity thinking becomes reality when you grow up with so many brothers and sisters. Act quickly, otherwise there will be nothing left. Even now, as an adult, I have to remind myself not to overfill my plate or worry about running out. It took me a long time to learn to enjoy things and not worry about feeling “not enough.”
However, this kind of thinking made me sloppy, which has come in handy over the years. When I was young and first married, we needed extra money. I started buying and selling furniture on Craigslist and renting out our house on Airbnb. My book club once voted that I was “most likely to survive The Hunger Games“
The demands of upbringing did not surprise me
My friends talked dreamily about their future families. I didn't do it. I knew what snotty tantrums looked like. For a long time I wasn’t even sure that I wanted children.
Eventually I changed my mind and became a mother. Sometimes, helicopter parents ask me how I am so calm with my children. Since I come from a big family, a little chaos doesn't bother me. Balls and tricycles in the house? Certainly. Trampling through mud and puddles? Go right ahead. Running around in a diaper? You do it.
In a large family there is always room for one more at the table.
I love our volume noisy family gatherings — my seven brothers and sisters, their spouses, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins. It's wonderful chaos.
Whenever I ask to take a single neighbor or other family with me, my mom always says the same thing: “Of course! I’ll make sure we have enough chairs.”
This is my favorite part of being part of a big family – when there are so many of them, what else?
