Brittany McGee

Most people have some time to prepare for being an aunt. I did not.

No, my brother in the States did not knock someone up. But, I became an aunt the moment I met most host family during “Site Visit” week.

While I don’t know the exact number of nieces and nephews I have, there are 5 kids who call me “Tía” and 3 who I know will once they can talk. As a sign of respect, a lot of children will also call their parents’ cousins “Tía” or “Tío,” which can be confusing to an outsider.

I live with two of my nieces, one who is five and the other who is six months. The 5-year-old has literally stolen my heart. Every time I see her after one of us has been gone, she runs up to me and gives me a giant hug.

And while she has my heart, she also can be quite the handful—like any child, anywhere.

During the fair, I took her and another one of my nieces to the main park, where they wanted to play games and in the bounce houses. I honestly have no idea what I was thinking when I asked the girls if they wanted to go.

We walk to the park, which is maybe a half mile away, and immediately the two pick out which one they want to start with. They take off their shoes and go wild. I stand outside, making small talk with the woman who runs that particular attraction. As I’m watching the girls play, I can’t help but smile and be happy that I made their day.

After the one attraction, they choose another and we head over to it. Here, they waste no time getting on the inflated giant slide, climbing up and going down over and over again. While waiting for the girls, a woman, curious as to who I am, introduces herself and we have a fantastic conversation about her experiences and Olmos.

It’s growing dark as the girls finish the inflatable slide attraction, and I promise them one more before we go home. We move along to the trampoline that they’re dying to jump on, and I should have known that even though I said it would be the last one before we went to it, I would be greeted with protests once the time was up.

“Tía, don’t be mean.”

“Just one more game, Tía”

“Tíaaaaaa”

“Tía, buy me a candy then”

I stand my ground, not wanting to set a precedent that I can be easily manipulated. I show resiliency to pouting and name calling, as I think to myself that this is excellent practice for when I become a parent. Nonetheless, it is difficult going from the best person on the earth to quite possibly the meanest.

Luckily, the older of the two understands that it is time to go, so I only have one pouty niece on my hands. As we ride the mototaxi home, I search for all of the Spanish words I can to explain to her why we need to go home and that she should focus on all the fun we had that day. As I fail to find the right words to make everything better, my older niece tries to help me and I have never been more grateful to an 8-year-old.

To my amazement, as soon as we get out of the mototaxi and walk into the house, the five-year-old quits her pouting and is ready to laugh, play and eat dinner. She tells her mom about the fun we had and doesn’t mention wanting to have played more.

In a moment’s notice, I am no longer the “Mean Tía” and I couldn’t be happier.