Growing up, I regularly witnessed the torture my friends had to suffer at the hands of their brothers and sisters.
I once watched my good friend’s older brother chase her up the stairs, only to drag her back down and shove his feet in her face. I heard stories of the haircuts my friends gave their younger siblings while they were sleeping.
I felt lucky that my own older brother had never forced me to eat dirt or pushed me down the stairs in the laundry hamper. Of course, we did those things, but they were acts of free will performed in good fun. I may have cut my head open while jumping from my bed to my brother’s, but it was my idea as much as his. I came to realize that the relatively peaceful relationship I enjoy with my brother and sister is somewhat rare.
Visitors to our home were shocked to find that we played with one another peacefully and seemed to genuinely enjoy each other as friends and equals.
Sure, I have problems with my siblings, but what family doesn’t? It sure doesn’t help that I have a sister who looks like she stepped off the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and is regularly mistaken as the older one. She delights in informing people that she’s actually four years my junior.
I’m left feeling stunned and a little confused, wondering how she scored the aesthetically-pleasing pile of genes instead of what the rest of humanity was given.
I’m in constant awe of the manner in which adolescent males drop to her feet when she graces them with her presence.
And then there’s my brother. He’s attending a prestigious business school, making marketing plans for large corporate companies and I am having trouble finding socks that match in the morning.
But I love them. I can’t imagine a day without them in my life. I have a brother who let me follow him to Queen’s and a sister who is closer to me than any friend can or ever will be.
Maybe I’m the one of the three who had it easy. I sit comfortably in the middle, never having to endure the pressure of being the first-born or the loneliness of being the last one left at home.
How did we become so disgustingly close, you ask? Well, I blame good parenting and an emphasis on respect and equal treatment. Sure, my brother was given a car for no apparent reason, but I swear it doesn’t bother me.
Mom and Dad, you did good.
So while I watch my brother climb the corporate ladder to success and my sister catalyze male fainting spells in the hallways of her high school, I feel enormously fortunate to have two such astounding individuals in my life.
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