Every year, "Siblings Day" suddenly hits my Facebook feed without warning, and I vacillate between awwww and awkward as I scroll through all the photos of siblings, then and now.
It's strange being an only-oldest-youngest.
I was 1 or 2 when my parents split, 5 when my mom remarried, 6 when my dad remarried. There were 3 older step-siblings that suddenly appeared; they were haughty and sophisticated and tall. I was a country girl, still foolishly believing in Santa Claus and wearing bobby socks and princess seams. I was out of my league with their inside jokes and shared tragedies.
When I was 8, both sets of parents started new families. It was a year of babies, a year of diapers, a year of staying out of the way. My sister was born a month early in January; my brother was born a month late in March. (A cousin came right on time, landing near Valentine's Day.) I was 8, surrounded by babies that I was sort of related to. The next wave came two years later, and one more followed. 5 halves in all, and I was in the middle, holding them aloft like Lady Justice, trying to balance all of the rules and expectations and needs of 2 very different famlies. Trying to figure out who I even was and how I fit. Trying to balance.
I know for a fact that they --all of the halves and the steps-- have never all been in the same room.
When I got married, most of them were there. The halves all showed up, played their wedding party part, wore their tuxes and bridesmaid dresses, danced the ceilidh, hugged and laughed. I'm pretty sure the steps were not there. Why would they be? I had officially not been recognized as a member of the family in my step-grandparents' obituaries. We were not siblings. We were acquaintances at best.
And yet, in my early years of teaching, I used to start the semester with "2 truths and a lie." I always used the same statements. My eyes were blue. I was an only child. I had 8 brothers and sisters.
My eyes have always changed by the day--sometimes yellow with green rims, sometimes green with brown. My eyes have never been blue.
It is strange being an only-oldest-youngest. On siblings day, I don't have a photo to post of all of us. I'm not even sure how to count all of us. Who's in? Who's not? Who makes the cut? Who would be in the photo? What are the criteria? What boxes need to be checked?
I didn't really grow up with any of them. I was nearly a decade older, the live-in babysitter, the big sister in college who they wrote letters to when they learned to write letters.
It's complicated, my family. It's complicated, my relationship with my siblings. They are, and they are not. We are and we are not.
I am the oldest, the one who got all the rules and broke all the rules, so that the younger ones could have an easier go of it. I am the Type A, the leader, the one who is driven.
I am the youngest, the one who never fit in and knew it. The one who was clearly a country mouse in the city. The one who desperately wanted to belong, even though belonging looked terrifying and cliquey and seemed to be reaching for something just out of reach.
It's complicated.
It's complicated, because they are my family, even if a photo doesn't exist. They are--for better or for worse--part of the fabric woven into me.
Hey -- You've nailed the conflict perfectly. I, too, am from a complicated/conflicted family. I was my mother's only child, and then inherited two older step-brothers. Later (by another re-marriage) I inherited a younger step-brother and step-sister. This changed my status from only/oldest to middle child. Even later I learned I have two half-brothers, but I don't really know them. You last line certainly rings true for me, too. (This is Marcia if you don't recognize "bookmidge".)
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