Undergraduate / "I'm my dad's wife" - Common App Main Essay [4]

Hello everybody.

This is a potential Common App main essay.

The essay is disjointed and the transitions aren't really there. I want to connect these anecdotes and different parts, but am not sure how.. The dad thing doesn't connect to my sister. I intentionally went over the word limit to add as many details as possible - I figured that it's better to delete the fluff afterwards. I guess the main theme here is despite the fact that I may look and act older than other people my age, there's a reason to my maturity because I've learned from my sister...? I think I've written too much just about her and not enough about me, though..

I appreciate harsh criticism!! And ripping apart!! And suggestions!! Thank you!

Prompt: Topic of your choice.
Required Word Count: 250 words - one page
Current Word Count: 760 words

People think that I'm my dad's wife. Or his mistress. At the driving range, an elderly man made a nostalgic remark, referring to my dad and me as newlyweds. I then forbade my dad to carry my photo around in his wallet, after his student complimented him on his young-looking wife, which turned out to be me. It's true that my dad looks younger than the average 46-year-old, a fact that he is immensely proud of, and it's true that I look older than the average 18-year-old, a fact that I don't care much about but that infuriates my mom. It's a frightening prospect: when I'm walking with my dad on his campus, I can't help but glance over my shoulder to see if his students are glaring over at me. I've seen it before.

Then there's my little sister, who looks much younger than the average 12-year-old. She is not only small for her age, but also physically disabled. While her friends run around the playground in the sun, my sister patiently sits in her wheelchair, wistfully gazing at the other kids. It was a scorching afternoon, and I was walking towards her school with a melting Whatchamacallit bar in my hand. I looked around, and there she was, sitting alone in her wheelchair. Her class had just finished physical education class, so these sweaty kids were running around and grabbing their backpacks to race home. Behind my sister stood her assistant teacher, but the teacher was too busy looking after the other kids. My sister looked up and found me, and her face instantly lit up. She wasn't expecting me, especially in my school uniform, to show up at her school. Mom usually did this. Holding back tears and clearing my choked up throat, I waved at her and crouched down to meet her eye level.

As we talked about the things she had learned in school that day, I couldn't help noticing the blatant stares from other kids. It was as if they thought that my sister and I were enclosed in our own bubble, and couldn't see outside it. Kids clearly younger than my sister craned their necks toward us as they walked by and some threw a condescending frown our way. I tried my best to ignore this. So did my sister. She didn't seem to care, or even notice, at all. I couldn't tell if this nonchalance was because she really didn't care, or because she had experienced it so much that it had numbed her. While chatting, she looked around to find her classmates, hoping to wish them goodbye, but only a few turned to notice her small voice. I struggled to keep the smile on my face.

My mother finally arrived. As I took the wheelchair back up to her classroom, tears flowed down, but then I forced myself to stop. This wasn't something to cry about.

I've never really been able to openly talk about my sister with my parents. Again, I don't know if it's because I fear the pain and tears that will follow or the empty hollowness. No matter how many therapists she goes to and no matter how many surgeries she has, it's the painful truth that my sister will ___ (I don't know how to phrase the last part). I sometimes find it hard to connect with my sister. There's the seven-year age gap and there's the simple schedule difference that doesn't allow me to see her often during the week, but then there's the fact that I have no idea what's she's going through.

It's painful, yet encouraging to watch my little sister. She's great at writing poems, and I've never seen a sixth-grader with better penmanship than hers. She struggles with taking her socks off and keeping her balance when washing her face at the sink, but like any other sixth-grader, she's the TV queen and knows the storyline of each soap opera. Not once has she complained about her body, and not once has she resented my parents for her disabilities.

Things are backward in my family. I'm the daughter that looks like the mom, but my little sister is the one that actually keeps the family together. I look the part of a strong mother, but it's my little sister that's actually much stronger inside. I know that I've lived a few more years and that I've seen a few more things, but I know that I will never realize the pain that my sister has had to endure.

Thank you!