This afternoon, I caught the tail end of a CBC broadcast of radio documentary entitled "Brothers and Sisters." That set me to thinking about my own life state. I am an only child. I always have been an only child. I know that sounds silly, but the operative word there is "only." There are many advantages to being an only child. You get all the attention from parents. You don't have to share toys, or space. I suppose in some ways, you get "spoiled." As I have lived my life, I found each advantage to also be a liability. Getting all the attention means that when something goes wrong, there's only one person to blame: me. That meant that I got used to feeling responsible for everything negative that happens. And I still do that, internally. If there's something wrong, perhaps it's my fault, or I should have done something about it.
Not having to share means that you never learn how to connect with another around shared tasks, toys or anything. It teaches you how to be alone. Later, that contributes to feeling lonely a lot of the time, even when you choose to be alone. It's what I know best: being alone with my thoughts.
As I grew up, I made a few friends.But not many. I find it difficult to make friends. It's like there's very little room in my psyche for other people. I think over the course of these many years that I may have made perhaps six friends…maybe seven. But not more. People that I know and like and whose company I enjoy I do not necessarily consider "friends." There are many things about myself that I wouldn't share with them.
I learned about brothers and sisters watching my children grow up. Much of the time it was with amazement that I observe their interaction, the way they could fight and then be buddies five minutes later. They trusted one another. Three of them are good friends to this very day, well into their middle age. That makes me feel really good, although I can't take much credit for it. They have been my teachers when it comes o sibling things.
This past autumn my eldest daughter and I traveled together to Scotland for almost two weeks. I have always felt very close to her, and this travel experience was the closest thing I have ever experienced to having a sister. We are adult friends now, and traveled together with little friction. It was probably the very best part of making that journey into my cultural past, sharing it with her.
When I see my children together, which is seldom now, I feel very deeply 'warm' inside, and at the same time, a bit envious. I would have loved to have a brother or a sister. Of course, they would have had to be somewhat unlike me, or sparks would have flown all the time! I suppose I think of "sister" in terms of my own daughters; "brothers" in terms of my son. They are such fine people. I have to face the possibility that a sibling of mine wouldn't have been any finer than me, and God knows I'm aware that isn't too fine!
As it stands, the friend I considered closest to a brother died over a year ago. I mourn Vincent to this day. I have little expectation that I will find another to fill his place. Perhaps I need to work on lowering my expectation of "friends?" The, at least, I wouldn't feel so alone so much of the time.
Not having to share means that you never learn how to connect with another around shared tasks, toys or anything. It teaches you how to be alone. Later, that contributes to feeling lonely a lot of the time, even when you choose to be alone. It's what I know best: being alone with my thoughts.
As I grew up, I made a few friends.But not many. I find it difficult to make friends. It's like there's very little room in my psyche for other people. I think over the course of these many years that I may have made perhaps six friends…maybe seven. But not more. People that I know and like and whose company I enjoy I do not necessarily consider "friends." There are many things about myself that I wouldn't share with them.
I learned about brothers and sisters watching my children grow up. Much of the time it was with amazement that I observe their interaction, the way they could fight and then be buddies five minutes later. They trusted one another. Three of them are good friends to this very day, well into their middle age. That makes me feel really good, although I can't take much credit for it. They have been my teachers when it comes o sibling things.
This past autumn my eldest daughter and I traveled together to Scotland for almost two weeks. I have always felt very close to her, and this travel experience was the closest thing I have ever experienced to having a sister. We are adult friends now, and traveled together with little friction. It was probably the very best part of making that journey into my cultural past, sharing it with her.
When I see my children together, which is seldom now, I feel very deeply 'warm' inside, and at the same time, a bit envious. I would have loved to have a brother or a sister. Of course, they would have had to be somewhat unlike me, or sparks would have flown all the time! I suppose I think of "sister" in terms of my own daughters; "brothers" in terms of my son. They are such fine people. I have to face the possibility that a sibling of mine wouldn't have been any finer than me, and God knows I'm aware that isn't too fine!
As it stands, the friend I considered closest to a brother died over a year ago. I mourn Vincent to this day. I have little expectation that I will find another to fill his place. Perhaps I need to work on lowering my expectation of "friends?" The, at least, I wouldn't feel so alone so much of the time.
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