I went to see my family this weekend, and it was the typically uproarious affair you’d expect when you throw two pre-teen girls, a teenage boy and their crazy little dog together with a big sister they don’t see very often. I marvelled at how much they’d grown in the month since I’d seen them last and at how mature they seemed as they told me about their extra-curricular activities and all their funny little stories. I wanted to freeze that moment and keep them 10, 12 and 14 forever. I wanted them to never grow up because I love the sweetness of their still-mostly innocent childhood. But we all know that growing up (and all the hardships that come with it) is inevitable and I couldn’t spare them that any more than I could stop this world from spinning.

Oh, but childhood isn’t all fun and games. My little sister, the one who mirrors my bookishness and sensitive spirit, gave me a shocking reminder of how difficult being a kid can be. She told me how the kids at her new school make fun of her, call her ugly and exclude her every chance they get. I looked at my sweet, sensitive little sister and told her how beautiful she was and that it didn’t matter what people thought of her and that people who lash out at others have problems of their own. Despite my kind words, her big brown eyes were wet with tears, and I almost shed a few of my own, because in her, I saw myself.