The family

I had not seen most of my niblings since Christmas of 2021. My father and I had helped Elijah, previously known as Alieyah or Leelee, move from one apartment to another in Boston -- which took from dawn to dusk and involved five miles between the old and new rooms. (I would have preferred fronting them the money for a moving van than have wasted a day doing this.) Their change, at least in gender identity and sexuality, has been pronounced, with boudoir photographs on their Instagram and a costuming job offer with a Neil Diamond musical in New York City. Social media makes me feel a continued connection with people, even when it borders the parasocial. After Elijah thanked me for helping them move, we did not exchange another word. I have no evidence they care either way what I share with the internet. They are still young to me and immune to involving themselves in the lives of family or adults outside their immediate sphere.

My other niblings moved to Texas with their parents. Even my eldest, Ayannah, whom I had assumed would remain in New York to pursue the young adult life she had begun, joined them, living in a smaller house behind theirs. She works at some low-level job comparable to the Dunkin Donuts that paid her a pittance in New York. She brought her boyfriend Gabe with her, then dumped him within months.

I mourned the time I would lose, critical years as they grew, but I saw little recourse as their uncle. I did not have a farm where I could house them on summer breaks, a fantasy I stole from some middle school novel and have kept since. The four youngest would not fit well in my apartment's former studio/current storage room. The elder two are essentially adults and would not struggle to find better company in my enclave near Bard College.

Months ago, my parents bought a trailer, building it a little porch in their driveway. I did not think it was anything more than one of those peculiar purchases retirees make. Maybe they intended to do some serious traveling. The inside is cozy, with microwave, stove, bunk beds, and a flat-screen TV. It looks better than some tiny homes I have seen. However, my father complained it would have been cheaper to put Alyssah, Aydan, Aaryn, and Addie in an upscale hotel for their stay. I am startled this was primarily meant to house their grandchildren on visits. They would have to visit for a week every year for the next eleven years for the cost to work out, though most of them will be above the age where this would seem novel. (In a decade, my eldest will be nearly as old as my wife is now, and the youngest will be in college.) When my mother tells Addie that the girls will switch out with the boys halfway through so both groups get the opportunity of the trailer, my niece assures my mother that she will be staying in the house. Let the boys have their fort in the driveway.

We meet at an escape room. There are no doubt more poetic places that would allow for refamiliarizing. Instead, it is a carpeted lobby and a woman in her early twenties trying to push us into orientation for some anthropological mystery.

Aydan is over a foot taller. I can hardly account for this height. When I saw a picture of him and Lyssie going to a prom (together but not together), I thought for a moment that she had snagged herself a handsome date. I could not recognize him as the little boy for whom I donated blood for his surgery when he was a baby, the kiddo who said he was half my son, given that the rest of the family saw such resonance between us (which I am not sure they meant as a compliment). His face is longer, and his chin more prominent. He has adorably blond and floppy hair. It would not be difficult to add a few years to his fourteen. He had better not grow any taller, or the government may mandate he plays basketball professionally or be a well-paid shelf reacher, but there are prime growing years before him.

Alyssah is a regionally ranked weightlifter in Texas, though she just missed going to state, beaten by a goliath cheerleader. An outsider would not peg Lyssie as so strong -- perhaps she is more solid, but I couldn't swear it. I have seen the pictures and videos of her hoisting comically large weights, the sorts you would expect from a cartoon strongman.

After hugging her, I joke that she could lift Amber and me simultaneously.

"I can lift 440."

My laugh fades. Lyssie could do this while our arms burst with hardcovers.

I did not imagine her becoming a competitive weightlifter, but it suits her. She is still the little cutie I held hours after her birth. I refuse to let these children age, at least not while most of my pictures show them under three feet.

Bear is a little more himself, a few inches taller, but still as expected. However, I see this near-vibrating potential to spring up as tall as his brother. We have always joked that he was born with a six-pack. He could be a powerful mix of Alyssah and Aydan. He reminded me of the advice I received about pet squirrels. You will never be their favorite person, but you will rapidly become their favorite tree. Since he was a baby, Bear was kinetic and much more apt to climb over you than hug you.

Addie is, delightfully, the same girl. She is markedly bigger than her classmates, according to soccer pictures my mother sends, but she does not seem different. She is enthusiastic, scattered, and fond. She is excited to narrate what is happening in the escape room and what we should do, even when her suggestions lean closer to creative storytelling than the game's logic. Doubtless, her genes will turn on within a few years and render her a giantess, some towering Amazonian, but they have not yet. I will cherish the time before they do, when I don't have to crane my neck up to see her.

Their parents are pushing all of them into sports in hopes that these will result in my niblings getting athletic scholarships. They are residents of Texas at present, and athletics may be more likely than anything academic.

I have never felt the bond with my aunts and uncles that I want with my niblings. They know I love them, but what else is there to say? If Amber and I traveled to Texas -- and we won't to that corner barring a damned good second reason -- it would not change anything. This visit -- beating an escape room and then going to a Chinese buffet -- proves this. Things will remain normal with gradual fluctuations.

To my niblings, I cannot be even a mote different. Adults only ever change in lines and hair. Since seeing them two Christmases ago, I do not believe I have gained or lost more.

Though I am a teacher, I love only a few children. As a mass, I skew closer to liking than not liking kids. Outside my facility, once they hit the age where they can hold a conversation, I tend to smile in their direction and would block anyone who tried to interfere with them. Even among my felons, I am upbeat but love them no more than I would a presently sated wolf. (I have especially liked a few residents, so I let them go, never speak to them again, and hope for the best. This works about half the time. The other half died. It's a gamble.)

I love my niblings, of course. I appreciate their intricacies and the curious ways they have grown and continue to grow. I imagine their futures. Alyssah is seventeen and is already planning for her college career -- though my mother advises her to look outside Texas so she is not stranded there when Dan and Becky move. Her elder siblings went to a program in California and have just graduated from Boston University, so there is precedent. She expresses interest in forensics, which is more concrete than my communications and English degrees.

I could not read Aydan's cards with any certainty, even less so for the youngest two. They could be and do anything, though I trust their aptitude to make it stellar, not merely because I am avuncularly proud of them. They are good kids with a lot going for them beyond blossoming height and strength.

last watched: Black Mirror
reading: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell