I remember the first time we traveled as a family. Papa would call us by the numbers he wrote on our passports. At the airport check-in, he would do a roll call like we’re in the military. He’s number 1, of course! We don’t call him “Boss Ed” for nothing. Mama’s number 2. I get number 3 and Carlos, 4.
I’ve been meaning to change my green passport jacket with a more stylish one but I get sentimental every time I see the encircled number on it. It has always served as a reminder that I’m “Number 3“– I’m part of a group, a herd, a family!
Wherever I go, I will be Number 3, the big sister that has to follow numbers 1 & 2 and look after number 4.
I will miss my family.