My brother and I accepted our mother's version of the affair that produced our sister with few questions, even though Lydia looks completely different from the rest of us. Mom is a long-legged Latina, but my brother and I take after our father. We're both tall blonds. Lydia is petite and cinnamon-coffee dark with tightly curled blue-black hair.
My hunger, my appetites, my longings, my skin, my bones, my size are mine for the taking. I take back my worthiness, my belonging in the world of beautiful and diverse beings. I live without apology for the straight lines and curves, living tissue, vulnerable heart that hold my living, breathing manifested story.
I don't want my children to feel the anxiety I feel, and that I see all around me. I don't want them to frantically research and read and look outside of themselves to determine what is right from wrong. I want them to be inspired by our family, and feel that they have inherited traditions, values, and wisdom that they can trust.