they call me sissy

"So where did 'Sissy' come from?"

It's a legitimate question. A Canadian midwife in Haiti wants to know why a grown woman is telling other adults, "My name is Carsen, but you can call me Sissy."

It started out the usual way: my siblings- and there are many of them- started calling me Sissy when I was very young. Then my parents did foster care and over the course of four years, 28 different children were in our home and I was Sissy to them too. When my parents decided to expand our family more by doing an overseas adoption, the name spread to Haiti.

My junior year of high school, I flew to Haiti for the first time to meet my siblings. My mom introduced me to them and the nannies overheard and thought "Sissy" was my given name. I tried to correct them once, but soon found out that "Carsen" doesn't sound quite right in Haitian Creole, so "Sissy" stuck.

I like to joke that my parents "take in strays." People that are lonely or in need of a family unit always have seemed to find their way into my parents' home. It doesn't take long for the nickname to become a part of the vocabulary of those who become family along the way.

That little orphanage where I met my brothers and sister became a home for me at the age of 19. I was already known there as Sissy and so it became the name that I went by for the 8 months that I lived there. When I return to Haiti with other organizations, I always introduce myself as Carsen. However, it still seems to be a name that is difficult to remember or say to Haitians, so I generally offer "Sissy" as an alternative. Somehow, the name has sticking power.

For me, however, it is an identity. For some sweet ones "Sissy" isn't enough and it becomes "My Sissy". I am a sister to many. I'm a shoulder to cry on, a hand to blow noses with, a back to climb on, legs to run with. Someone once said, "I like Sissy because she can make her face look like a monkey." I guess I'm good for that, too. I might come with a lecture or two- or maybe I'll just be there to listen about how unreasonable the adults are being. My heart has been broken into a million pieces as the phases of life require changes that little ones don't understand- like why I don't live with them anymore. "I want my Sissy!"- and my heart breaks with each tear as he tries to figure out why Sissy has to leave all the time. I reminisce about the days when my makeup-wearing sister was small enough to bathe in the sink. I miss when my 6 foot tall, nearly 200 lb brother was small enough for me to carry around in a backpack. As they each grow to tower over me, the relationship changes. These large, hairy, hormonal beings no longer want me to read them bedtime stories. However, I may be good at changing my voice to act out each character's part, but I'm also good at talking about periods and dating and sex.

With the name comes a badge of honor. It is a privilege to be Sissy to each one of them, even if only for a short time. I'm blessed to have these sweet souls in my life. Even more, I'm blessed that they call me Sissy.