Love for an Unborn Sibling
by Josiah Tsui
My mom liked to say that the perfect number of children was four—two boys and two girls. Perhaps because she tossed the statement around so casually, and perhaps because I didn’t know any better, I saw the matter of having children as one of choice, even at the age of nine. But having a six-year-old brother at home and my best friend Michael next door, I didn’t hold it against my parents for not having provided me with more siblings; things made sense just as they were. I knew that Tuesday nights were basketball practice at the YMCA, and that Saturday mornings were violin lessons with Ms. Jessica, and that Sunday afternoons would always be me begging my parents for more time on the playground at church.
Still, my favorite day was Friday. The PTA moms set up a table in the cafeteria after school and sold small paper bags of buttered popcorn for 50¢, which I would buy and try to eat slowly, but end up finishing before the end of the bus ride home. I remember that it was on a Friday that I found out the good news, because when I got home and my mom showed me the pregnancy test, I was holding an empty paper bag crumpled in one hand, and the funny-looking stick in the other, asking “What’s this?” She explained the meaning of the red plus sign, and immediately after, I began to run all around the house, jumping and yelling and smiling.