I recently read a collection of essays on only-childhood. Some authors like their situation, some don't, but all understand that it makes us, well, unique. I was... am... an only child. I don't think I had it very rough. When asked whether I have brothers or sisters, I joke that I'm a spoiled-brat-only-child - and maybe I am. I certainly didn't hurt for attention or playthings. My parents focused their love, time, and resources on me. They always came to my softball games, band concerts, open houses at school. They weren't helicopter parents, hovering around to save me whenever things got rough - as some of the parents I now encounter are wont to do. Of course, things rarely "got rough" for me - I usually made intelligent choices - but they did blanket me with a certain amount of protection. I can't fault them for that, but I was definitely a shy kid(1) as a result. I think I might have inquired of the possibility of a younger sibling once or twice. Honestly, I didn't have much of a desire for one. I was aware of and happy for my unique situation. My parents always gave me some line about how I turned out so well, they decided to stop at perfection with just one. *barf* I don't really know the true reason they never had any other kids, or whether they even tried. I don't feel like I have some fundamental flaw for not having had siblings. Perhaps in some attempt at filling in for such intimate bonds, though, I cultivated close relationships with a select number of friends(2). As a kid, it was the best of both worlds, really - I had (what I presume to be) sibling-like relationships with them, but I could go home (or send them home) at the end of the day.
I like to think I ended up reasonably well-adjusted. There are some times when my idiosyncracies surface, which probably drive my husband nuts. I hate to telephone someone I don't know - and even some that I do know (3). I truly enjoy entertaining friends, but sometimes I would just rather be by myself. At least, I'm good at being by myself. I can entertain myself for weeks - and often prefer to do so (4). Anyhow, I began to outgrow some of my shyness in college, when I had to grow some nerve in order to survive. I don't truly understand the concept of boredom. I'm guilty of living too much in my head, probably because I never had to communicate outwardly with siblings. As an only child in an otherwise adult household, I've always related far more easily to adults. And now that I am one, older adults. I've made easy friends with a handful of people about ten years older than me - it's only very recently (since our move to Florida, mostly) that I began a sizeable collection of friends who are actually younger than I am. I never had younger siblings to babysit, so very young children are completely foreign creatures. I can teach high-schoolers, but nothing younger. I never really had to share my stuff with anyone, and it's not something that I did readily. I was probably a pretty selfish kid, but I like to think I'm outgrowing it. Nowadays, I make a conscious attempt to trim back, and in a lot of cases, I'm generous to a fault now. But, deep down, I still like to call the shots when it comes to when I choose to be generous. I was probably a pretty bossy kid, too - after all, as an only child, it was either my way or... well... my way. But I never learned to stand up to anyone who took my toys, so I tend to be a pushover. An odd contradiction. The paradoxical only child.
I know my leaving the nest was hard on my parents. My parents invested so much of themselves in me that my absence left a noticeable hole in their existence. I don't mean to sound so self-important, but consider how you notice a gap when a friend moves away. Now multiply that by 17290. We had been a triumvirate for so long; when one vertex of the prism inevitably took off on her own, left home, and got married, it almost seemed like a betrayal of our original alliance. Dare I say it, I actually prefer to go back and visit my parents on my own - it just doesn't totally feel right any other way. And I don't think my husband minds. The three of us make quite a force to contend with. (5)
Many people fear loneliness above anything else, but I don't, really. I have deep love my friends and family - it could be argued that they are one in the same - and maybe it's easy to claim freedom from fear when I don't want for companionship. Of course, being alone is very different from loneliness. Sometimes being alone at night in an empty house is irrationally scary, but I'm talking about loneliness. Once my parents are gone, I will have no siblings who truly shared with me my childhood. Now, I don't want to come off all "poor me", because I realize everyone loses their parents. Only children, however, are orphaned in a way that's different from siblinged children. I will single-handedly bear the burden of caring for them and their legacies. This didn't even register before I read essay after essay referring to this. Maybe then I'll truly understand what my parents felt when I left home. Maybe the loss of my parents will completely blindside me, I don't know. We live far away, so they've almost been reduced to an abstraction. Anyhow, at this point, I don't have these fears. Maybe I'll change my mind, I don't know. My history has very few narrators. But enough people know me so deeply now that I'm just not concerned they didn't know me then.
My husband is the oldest of three children, so of all the possible birth orders, he can probably best relate to an only child. But I freely admit I don't understand the dynamics between brothers and sisters. I wonder whether I'll be equipped to moderate and comprehend these relationships and bonds as a mother of multiple children. I've always wanted more than one child (6); my reasons have more to do with wanting both a boy and a girl, not sparing my own child(ren) from the only-childhood I had. I wouldn't mind raising an only child. It's a great life (7). I'd be more concerned that I wouldn't have the opportunity to raise a child of the opposite sex, and that I might be missing out on something. See, selfishness continually rears its head!
(1) I find it absolutely hilarious that people who know me now cannot believe this! I have to put on a good front some days. Besides, "personable" does not always equal "extroverted." The dance of pleasantries in conversing with someone new is a learned, rehearsed, practiced, and exhausting skill for me. Teaching has decidedly expanded my skillset. Sometimes my boldness surprises me; I ask pointed questions of others I never would have considered ten years ago - and I certainly would have hated being asked, myself. Seriously, those of you who met me in the past ten years would be shocked at what I was like twenty years ago.
(2) I realized a few years ago that many of my friends fall into distinct categories. Within categories, they remind me strongly of each other. That would be a good topic for another day. Remind me.
(3) I intensely dislike the telephone. Part of the reason I'm looking forward to ditching our landline is that it currently does not have CallerID, one of my favorite features of our cell phones! I much prefer written (post, e-mail, IM) or in-person communication.
(4) That and I've found that sometimes "compromise" means that nobody in a group really gets to do what they want to do; if I set out on my own, there's a guarantee I'll get to do what I want. Ah, selfish only child!
(5) Sorry for the Midwestern dangling preposition. I don't feel like restructuring my sentence right now.
(6) Though right this second, my desire for children is admittedly very low.
(7) Not like I know any different. But nobody else does, either.
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