When the Phone Rang

May 14, 2008
By Sydney Laborde, Moreauville, LA

I was awoken by the sound of the telephone. I lay in my bed at my dad and step-mom’s house wondering who was calling at 5 o’clock in the morning. I heard my dad hang up the phone, and he began walking towards my room. My heart began to pound; I hoped nothing serious was wrong. My dad walked into my room and sat down on my bed. He said, “Guess what?” I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Your mom just called, and they are on their way to the hospital. Your little brother or sister is on the way!” he said. I jumped out of bed immediately. I ask my dad, “How am I going to get to the hospital?” “Your grandparents are on their way to pick you up,” he said. I hurried into the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on my clothes. I sat in the living room impatiently waiting to be picked up. Finally, I saw car lights coming down the driveway. I ran out the door and got into the vehicle. It felt like it took days to get to the hospital. Once in my mother’s hospital room, I looked at everyone and asked, “Is it here yet?” My family began to laugh, and they told me it would be a little while. I walked up and down the hall for what seemed like hours. The nurse came into the room to check on my mom. Within seconds she said, “It’s time!” I wanted to stay and hold my mom’s hand; however, I was told I was too young, and I had to leave the room. I sat in the waiting room holding on to my grandmother’s arm. Soon my aunt came into the waiting room with a huge smile on her face. “Come on you guys!” she said to us. As I turned the corner, my step-dad was standing there holding a little baby. He looked at me and said, “It’s a boy!” I ran up to him begging to hold my new baby brother. Unfortunately, my new little brother had to see the nurses and doctors for a little while. After a few hours, my little brother was brought into the room. We decided we were going to name him Kemper. I held him in my arms, and I couldn’t wait to take him home. I decided I wanted my little brother to call me Sista. Two days later, we were able to take Kemper home.
That day by far has been the best day of my life. My little brother is now seven years old, and he is growing up way too fast. He surely did call me Sista, and the name has stuck. He has learned to torment, aggravate, connive, trick, and all at the same time love his sister like only a little brother could.

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