This weekend we had a mix of Peej’s fam in town to celebrate his nephew’s 12th birthday: P.J.’s parents from Cincinnati, and his oldest sister and her son Tony from Myrtle Beach. They all came here because he wanted a trip to Chicago for his birthday.
Let that sink in for a minute.
We are so awesome that a 12 year old- (read: Land Of Which Nothing Having To Do With Adults Is Awesome)- actually wanted to spend time with us.
Or maybe we were just the only family in Chi-town. Regardless, we are awesome.
Peej took them to a Cubs game on Friday, and that night I got to experience my favorite type of restaurant: ESPN Zone. Let me list the ways in which this place is not geared towards, say, me:
a) Sports.
b) Aneurysm-inducing lights.
c) Head-crushing sounds.
d) Arcade filled with games about Sports.
But, since it was not my 12th birthday, I happily joined the fam for a lovely dinner and a sniper game.
This past weekend (while superbly fun) got me thinking about family dynamics- specifically birth order and the roles we set for ourselves (or get cast as) super early on. A while back, P.J. sent me this article about just that. And, while I don’t believe that Nora is nursing solely as a devious means to prevent a sibling- it raises some good points about how we struggle for attention with our folks and the labels we find ourselves stuck with.
For the past few days I’ve hosted a set of parents, an oldest sister and an oldest brother, plus I live with a youngest sibling, and, of course, an only. P.J.’s sister has been nicknamed “The General,” for her early responsibilities herding four younger sibs. And Tony happens to be the only boy in a family of five girls- four half sisters- but only lives with his younger sis.
But what happens when the oldest boy is an ‘only’ for a long weekend? Or when the big sis is hosted by the baby brother- nicknamed “The Crowned Prince” in Cincy, but in Chicago is very much so “DAD” in all caps? And how about The Parents, very much so in charge of their family, staying in the home of their baby boy and the youngest of their kid-in-laws?
I’ll tell you. It’s a lot of politesse. Roles are forgotten, remembered, things are almost said, taken back, lips are zipped, mugs and plates are moved- it’s a complete upheaval of The Way Things Go.
This, of course, is coming from a crowd-pleasin’ Middle in a family of all girls and one Dad. Sometimes a male pup. (But when the Middle- one of the Biggies in the sibling lineup- of one family marries the Baby of another…isn’t she instantly relegated to Baby status in the eyes of her in-laws? I think yes. But that’s fine. Decision-making starts to chafe after awhile, anyhow.)
In my immediate family we have very defined roles of The Good One, The Funny One, The Star, The Smart One, The Pretty One, The Favorite, The Practical One, The Genius, The Happy One, The Savvy One, The Rebel and The Vegetarian. (And that’s only four gals!)
I tried for the longest time to give myself the tag of The Devastating One or The Wealthy One. But, like I’ve been saying, you cannot do this. It has to be thrust upon you. (And- turns out- you can’t just decide to be devastating. Apparently it’s a way of life.)
And if there’s any cross-over? That results in a very weird gray area of jealousy and reinforcement. (“Yes, we love your highlights- but you cannot be The Pretty One. We don’t make the rules.”)
It’s enough to make someone question (over and over and over) how many kids is optimal in a fam. Thoughts? Comments? Accolades? Meanie-pants suggestions for which I’ll promptly tattle?
I’ll go with the majority decision.
That is, after all, my role.
As long as you’re okay with it.
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