"Take care of your sister," my dad would say, "You only have each other." My sister and I are the youngest  of 11 children on my father's side and the youngest of 7 children on my mother's side. All my siblings are at least 13 years older than us, except for our brother Freddy, who is three years older than me. 

My earliest memories of my little sister, "Baby," as my mom would call her, and "Lola" to the rest of us, are of her mostly crying. She was a crybaby  if she woke up too early from her nap and cried if she did not have her cup. And when she cried, it was at the top of her lungs, so loud you'd want to run and hide. It was like waking a sleeping bear. It felt like an eternity before she stopped. We quickly learned to not wake her up.

My little sister, Dolores Petra Nevarez,  was born a preemie, weighing only 4 lbs. She and I grew up with our brother Freddy, who was always getting us to do crazy things, like putting us in a dryer an letting it spin, or getting us in a grocery cart so he could push us down the hill and laugh as we screamed for our lives, or riding us on his bike as he pedaled in the street. 

Although Lola would cry when she woke up from her nap, she never cried out of fear. That was especially true one summer day when she was about 3 years old. We were having a family gathering at our house, which was on the main street. All the kids were outside running around, up and down the yard to the sidewalk,  and in and out of the house. And all the adults were inside. 

Suddenly  a local homeless man walk past our house. But then he comes back and stops on the sidewalk in front of our house. Lola was standing closest to the sidewalk. All of the other kids started screaming and running back to the house.   

I felt like I was running too slow to  get inside the house and call my parents. I could not speak fast enough to tell them that a man was taking my sister. My dad ran out of the house just as the man was holding my sister's hand, taking her away from our yard. He and the other adults yelled at the man, and he walked away. But from that moment on we realized we had to watch her more and protect her. 

For as much as she would cry for being woken up, she never screamed or showed fear when the man grabbed her hand. 

We moved a lot growing up, went to over 13 schools, lived in Texas, Maryland, Wisconsin, and all over California. Many times, we had to walk to school. Since Lola was a slow walker we would carry her backpack and make her run ahead of us so that no one could take her. That was how we protected her. 

If we had chores, I would try to do hers too. If I went to my friend's house, she went too. We were always together. 

As we grew older, I would ask her to help but she would do things too slow. So we just stopped asking her to help. 

She remembers having to run home because she walked too slowly. She's 43 now. and she recently asked, "Why didn't you run home too? You could have been taken just like me."  The answer is simple, we were older and we thought we tough and would be safe.

In our family my brother and I were the ones who protected our little sister. She learned to count on us growing up, but now that we are older, it's us who lean on her for advice, encouragement, problem solving, and parenting. She is the best tia, always  showing up and supporting her nieces and nephews in their activities. She will help clean up at parties and chip in, just do not expect her to help with setting up or any party planning.