When I step into the car, there is silence. I know what is about to come. “What happened that game? You weren’t yourself. You can’t continue to play like that,” criticizes my mom. I give no response hoping that conveys my disinterest. “Hello? Are you going to answer?” more pestering rings in my ear.

“I don’t want to talk about the game tonight. I know I played bad. Thanks.” My attitude does not go over well, but finally, we are home. “Goodnight,” I state as I start my trek up the stairs.  My mother’s house: an intense goal oriented family, where the focus is only on me. 

“Hey Sami, how was your day?” my dad asks as I step into the car, “we have to go pick up your brother at school.” After minimal questions about school and a bit of small talk about my team’s most recent game, we too arrive home. As I step through the door, I ask my step mom what we are having for dinner. I hear, “tacos” which gets the response of my disgusted face. “Ew, that’s horrible,” I impolitely complain. “Well everyone else likes tacos so you will have to deal with it for tonight.” My father’s house: a blended laidback family, where the focus is on four different children, one with disabilities.

At my mom’s house, I face constant questions and bothersome comments: “Did you finish all your homework?”, “What happened on that chemistry test?”, “Unacceptable.” As the only child, I also benefit every time I walk into the restaurant my mom owns, J.A.M.S.S. The wall is covered with countless newspaper clippings. Several customers whom I’ve never met exclaim “Oh I’ve heard all about you!” Flattering of course, but I do not want to be the center of attention; I do not want to have the focus just on me.

Thankfully, this lifestyle is not the only one.

At my dad’s home, I am surrounded by three other siblings, and each has their own unique interests that require attention. My oldest brother, Wyatt, struggles with disabilities that suddenly appeared tragically when he was 5 years old. Undiagnosed and unable to do normal, everyday tasks like cooking a meal, shaving, or doing laundry, Wyatt requires an exponential amount of help from my dad and stepmother.

When we finally finish ordering lunch at The National, the family’s favorite spot, Wyatt begins one of his new, anxious, unexplainable, outbursts. Thankfully this one was not violent, but his concerns engulf the lunch conversation as well as most conversations for the rest of the lunch. “Bu-buuu-buuuut mom,” Wyatt stutters, “I haven’t been able to live my life. I don’t have any friends. I can’t do things on my own!” As lunch comes to a close, my family continues to deal with Wyatt and barely looks up when I announce that I am going banana boating alone, while they deal with Wyatt.

With this family, I am not the only child, and although it takes some adjusting from the norm of my mom’s household, I end up enjoying my independence and freedom. When I think about both of my families, I realize they are both filled with love. Living in two polar opposite households helps me adapt to many types of people and situations. These years have sculpted me into a person with a strong sense of family.